


The Sun and the Breeze

by kittycathat



Series: Witcher Crossovers and Fusions [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (sort of), Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon Ships It, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Destiny, Fluff, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, NaNoWriMo 2020, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Not Beta Read, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Slow Burn, Tetris Effect, Transformation, Wild goose chase
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 57,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27850354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittycathat/pseuds/kittycathat
Summary: When Geralt arrives at Kaer Morhen with Yennefer and Ciri in tow Vesemir immediately recognizes that something is missing, something that brought the three of them together. Destiny. A powerful Force. One that was not safe with the approach of Nilfgaard.Even without being there Jaskier has a profound effect on Geralt's life. Now Geralt needs to find him and bring him home, before it's too late.Not really a crossover, but inspired by the music of Tetris Effect
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher Crossovers and Fusions [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2038786
Comments: 118
Kudos: 484
Collections: Angsty Angst Times, Don't Wanna Get Rid Of You, Geralt is Sorry





	1. PART ONE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I was working on Sonaan I was chatting my friend and ex-beta about other possible crossovers that could be fun and he jokingly challenged me to write a Witcher x Tetris Effect crossover/fusion so here's my response to that challenge. Suck it, Angel.

The Deep | Connected (Yours Forever)

They were a few days outside of Ard Carraigh when the soldiers caught up to them. Or rather, the soldiers _would_ have caught up to them, if Geralt hadn’t heard them coming and pulled Ciri and Roach off the road and into the thick underbrush of the woods. They stayed there, behind the trunk of a particularly large fallen tree, and waited for the small procession to pass when Geralt’s golden eyes went wide and he lifted his head over the top of the trunk.

“ _Fuck_.”

It was hardly more than an exhale of breath, harsh and emphatic, but Ciri caught it by proximity and looked up at the white-haired witcher.

“What is it?” She asked in a whisper, her voice tight with fear.

“Yennefer,” came the same breathy response, but it was enough that Ciri twisted around and stood on her toes to peer over the trunk herself. Through the thicket the black armor of the Nilfgaard soldiers was visible in their structured march along the road. Being led by a rope attached to her wrists, a dirty, worn, stumbling Yennefer of Vengerberg was also visible, with another handful of soldiers bringing up the rear behind her. They laughed whenever she missed a step, picking her up none too gently and shoving her along the road.

Geralt blew out a harsh breath through his nose.

“What are we going to do?” Ciri asked, her voice rising. “We can’t leave her with them!”

Ciri had dreamt of the mage, knew she was important and needed to be with them. When prodded further the young girl could only shake her head as she tried to explain.

_“I keep dreaming of a song and a shadow, but Yennefer’s name and face were clear to me though I’ve never known her before.”_

“Geralt?” Her voice brought him back to the moment as he quickly counted the men through the trees. A dozen soldiers and Yennefer. The mage must’ve been captured after Sodden, likely still exhausted or affected by a magical-barrier such as dimeritium.

He didn’t like the odds, but Cirilla was right. He couldn’t leave her with them.

“ _We_ ,” he stressed, “are not going to do anything. You are going to stay here with Roach and at the first sign of trouble you ride north.”

The princess opened her mouth to argue, but thought better of it and nodded instead, though she was frowning all the same.

“Good.”

Geralt took one moment to check his swords and limited supplies before he was off into the shadows, quiet as could be. He stepped onto the road behind the soldiers who had completely missed his approach in their march. The first two fell to his blade without issue, swift and silent, but the third turned at just the right moment and managed to shout before steel silenced him forever.

The next minute quickly devolved into a whirlwind fury of blows as Geralt parried, swung, and thrust through the small contingent of soldiers.

“Stop! Drop your sword, witcher!”

Geralt bared his teeth as he rounded on the man who had shouted at him, the last one standing, and promptly froze.

He was holding Yennefer, a blade to her throat. The sorceress looked upset, though more irritated than frightened and when her violet gaze met his own she gave the barest of nods toward him. He returned it and held his hands in a placating manner, lowering himself to one knee to lay the sword on the ground.

“Good. Now, tell me-”

What the man was going to demand was lost in a choked gurgle as blood poured from his lips, a thin dagger embedded in his throat. Geralt held his hand out from where he had thrown the dagger procured from his boot for a beat just before the soldier collapsed to the ground, dead, his sword falling away with a clatter.

Yennefer gave the body a sharp kick before she began shimmying her wrists in an attempt to be free of the ropes. Geralt hurried over to her and reached towards her.

“Here, let me-”

“I don’t need your help!” She snapped, furious.

For a moment they stared at each other before the sorceress looked away first.

“Fine,” she relented, presenting her bound wrists to him. He made short work of the bindings there and she turned away, rubbing her wrists as soon as she was free and he took a moment to retrieve his sword. When he approached again she was frowning at the strewn bodies.

“I’m glad to see you, Yennefer,” he said at last. Her eyes darted toward him.

“I can’t say the same, though I do…thank you for your freeing me.”

“Yen, I-” He started to speak, to explain, but cut himself off before starting again and finally relenting. “I’m sorry.”

She scoffed.

“You’re sorry? Do you even know what you’re sorry for?”

Geralt exhaled harshly.

“Damn it, Yen! I’m _trying_. The things I said in Caingorn, about you being a mother. About you flitting about like a tornado. I was unfair, and I’m sorry,” he took a breath. “But I’m not sorry for the djinn. For the wish. For saving you. You deserved to be saved and I’ve been glad to have you in my life.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her expression still angry. And then, in an instant, all of the anger seemed to drain out of her, leaving her looking tired and worn.

“I can’t do this again, Geralt. _Everything_ of importance in my life has been dictated by magic and it’s not real.”

“Yen-”

“I forgive you,” she interrupted him. “I forgive you, because you did save me, and I do appreciate what we had.” He moved to embrace her, but she held her hands up and kept him at arm’s length. “But I won’t pursue something I can’t be convinced is real. I’ll give you my friendship, but I can’t give you anything more than that. Not now.”

Geralt frowned, but nodded his acquiescence.

“Then I will be honored by your friendship, Yennefer.”

She gave him a small smile, before looking behind him and around.

“Speaking of friends,” she said as her smile turned into a sly grin. “Where is your ever present little bird?”

“Ciri?” Geralt questioned for a moment, looking confused. Yennefer matched his confusion.

“What?”

“I – wait here a moment,” Geralt left into the dense wood the road wound through and returned a moment later with Roach and the young blonde. Yennefer looked between them with a look of astonishment.

“Your child surprise? Not to be used as bruxa bait then?”

“What’s a bruxa?” The girl asked, looking up at Geralt.

If he could have, the witcher would have flushed red in embarrassment. As it was, he hummed off the question to introduce them.

“Hmm. Yennefer, this is Ciri. Ciri, Yennefer of Vengerberg.”

“You _are_ Yennefer!” Ciri exclaimed, sounding absolutely delighted. “I know you, well, I. I’ve been dreaming of you.”

“Dreaming of me?” Yennefer repeated, looking toward Geralt in surprise.

“Ciri has a gift,” Geralt explained, resting one hand on Ciri’s shoulder and meeting Yennefer’s gaze steadily. “One her mother had. Magic.”

“Yes, there is Chaos swirling about you, isn’t there?” Yennefer agreed looking back at the girl. “And Nilfgaard is that why they-?”

Geralt nodded grimly.

“They practically told me so,” Ciri chimed in. “And they all but said it has to do with this…whatever this is. Whatever’s inside me that makes me special.”

“I see,” Yennefer offered the girl a gentle smile before turning back to Geralt. “As fascinating as this all is, it’s not actually the little bird I was referring to.” Geralt’s brow furrowed in confusion again and Yennefer sighed. “Jaskier?”

This time Geralt looked momentarily pained before he looked away.

“I haven’t seen Jaskier in some time. Just another person I owe an apology to,” he shook his head. “But it will have to wait. Winter is almost upon us and I need to get Ciri to Kaer Morhen. Will you…will you come with us?”

Yennefer stared at him blankly before Ciri interrupted.

“Oh please, please you _have_ to. If I saw you in my dreams…you will won’t you? Please?”

The sorceress looked down at her in surprise before offering another gentle smile.

“Well I suppose I have to, since you asked so nicely and all,” she agreed, she reached out a hand which Cirilla accepted and they began walking up the road, paying the corpses no mind.

“You’re a mage? From Aretuza?”

“That’s right, though I know Cintra doesn’t care much for my kind.”

“Grandmother didn’t, but we did have a druid who advised her and helped raise me, and-”

Geralt let the conversation turn into a background drone as he cast Igni to remove the remains before following behind them with Roach.

They stayed on the road into Ard Carraigh without any other issues or soldiers on the way and Geralt allowed Ciri and Yennefer to bully him into staying in an inn for the night.

“It will be the last one before we make it to your secret witcher hideout,” Yennefer teased, her eyes bright.

“It’s not a secret- _fine_. One night,” he growled, leading Roach to the stable while they entered the inn. The tavern was nearly full and Geralt fought down the urge to flinch when he entered. It was loud with the sounds of conversations being shouted over bright music and the usual hustle and bustle of dishes and drinks being served.

Ciri darted between the patrons to snag his arm and tugged him away from the door and over to the table Yennefer had laid claim to even as he turned his head to get a look at the bard performing. He caught a glimpse of a gaudy hat with tall feathers sitting atop curly red hair before the troubadour danced out of view.

Not Jaskier.

He didn’t know why he had even thought it might have been. Or why he was disappointed that it wasn’t.

“Ale, less shitty than usual,” Yennefer remarked sliding him a tankard as he sat, taking the bench where his back could be against the wall. “And dinner on the way.”

“Hmm.”

The stew was delivered along with more ale, and they ate as the loud tavern quieted, though the music continued. It was only when a familiar pattern of notes rang out that Geralt looked toward the bard again.

He hadn’t heard this song in a decade at least. He knew it was one of Jaskier’s but it had never really caught on for it was far more mellow than the usual crowd-pleasing tavern tunes.

“Geralt?” Yennefer’s voice pulled him back to her for a moment. “Are you all right?”

“This song,” he said, looking back toward the bard. “It’s Jaskier’s.”

She let out a snort that was somewhere between derision and laughter.

“And? He’s a bard, it’s what they do.”

“No, it’s _this_ song. It was never really a song for places like this so he didn’t play it, but I remember him writing it.”

“ _Every passing day  
The winds might blow stronger  
Joy to light the way  
To keep the reminder_

 _I’m yours forever  
There is no end in sight for us  
Nothing could measure  
The kind of strength inside our hearts  
It’s all connected  
We’re all together in this love  
Don’t you forget it  
We’re all connected in this love_”

“Well he was certainly pining for you for ages, wasn’t he?” Yennefer commented, before taking a drink of her ale.

“Yen,” he almost snarled. “Knock it off. We’re friends.”

“Mmmhmm,” she agreed. “Friends who rub your bottom with chamomile?”

“ _Yen_.”

“You can’t honestly be this thick, can you?”

“ _Beyond the storms and the seas  
The sun and the breeze  
The stars in the galaxy  
Beyond the time that we take  
The days that we make  
I’m always gonna be with you_”

She frowned, looking toward the bard before looking back at him.

“That’s odd.”

“What? The lyrics? I told you, it wasn’t like that. He called some Countess his great love and muse.”

She scoffed again.

“Not _that_. The _song_. I…really want to go to the coast all of a sudden. It’s a strange feeling.”

“Oh,” Ciri looked at them both with wide eyes. “I was just thinking the same thing. How much I’d like to sail over to Skellige and watch the dolphins swim on the way.”

Geralt opened his mouth to retort before he snapped it closed and looked back at the bard. His medallion wasn’t reacting to any sort of magic but he realized he had the same inexplicable urge.

“Geralt?” Yennefer prompted again.

“I…would very much like to sit on a beach and watch the stars. Why would I want that?”

Yennefer frowned again as the song ended.

“Odd,” she repeated.

Before they could dwell on it further, a loud clamor near the bar drew their attention and they looked up to see two men shoving at each other and a fight ready to escalate.

“Time to go, I believe,” Geralt declared, grabbing his bag and swords and helping Ciri off the bench. Yennefer rose gracefully and they fled up the stairs before a brawl could break out and they could be dragged into it.

The strange song and desire to see the coast were quickly forgotten as they departed from Ard Carraigh and made their way toward Kaer Morhen. The onset of winter forced them to put any other ponderings out of their minds except for their safe travels up the trail to the keep. The mountain path was meant to dissuade unwanted visitors, which unfortunately meant the challenging trail was a difficult passage for the young girl and recovering sorceress. Still, they did manage and arrived at the mountain keep before the worst of the snow covered the path. A few more days and they wouldn’t have been able to travel it safely, if at all.

Vesemir’s presence was not unexpected with his position as master of the keep, nor was Lambert’s (though it was a surprise to see his brother had arrived before him.) The pair met them as they came in through the gates, snow falling gently around them.

“Geralt,” Vesemir greeted him warmly with a firm embrace. “You look well.”

“Vesemir,” Geralt returned the greeting before turning to his brother. “Lambert.”

Another embrace was exchanged before Geralt pulled back and gestured Ciri and Yennefer forward.

“You have guests,” Lambert groused, arms crossed over his chest as he looked between the pair.

Vesemir did the same.

“Your sorceress and child surprise,” he surmised then paused, a frown marring his features. “Is someone missing?”

“What do you mean?” Geralt asked, even as he worked on removing the saddlebags and tack from Roach.

“The three of you, together. It’s…strange, is all,” the old witcher shook his head and gestured for the sorceress and young girl to follow him inside. “Lambert help Geralt with his gear.”

Lambert waved the older witcher off as he led the women inside, but did as asked.

“Eskel isn’t here yet?” Geralt asked, his surprise evident. Eskel usually arrived for either of him. His late arrival was unusual for certain, and slightly concerning, though the trail had a few more days before it became impassible.

“Sort of, he was here before me but had to run back down for supplies. Vesemir apparently had a feeling we’d need extra this winter, didn’t say why. Good thing though, since you brought your witch and kid.”

“ _Lambert_.”

“Honestly expected you to bring your boyfriend though,” Lambert continued, despite Geralt’s snarl. “How does that even work? Do you take turns? Ménage à trois as the Touissantois like to say?”

Geralt snarled again.

“Fuck off. Jaskier’s not my anything, and Yennefer and I aren’t like that. Not anymore.”

“Ah, they found out about each other? Yeah, that’s always asking for trouble from what I understand.”

“Gods only know why I ever think I miss your stupid face,” Geralt growled, throwing the bags over his shoulder once Roach was safe and comfortable in the stable.

“You love my stupid face!” Lambert called, following him out and into the keep proper. “But seriously, if you need to talk about it you know you can come find me or whatever, right?”

“I think I’ll wait for Eskel. He actually knows how to listen.”

“Fuck off, Geralt. See if I’m ever nice to you again,” with a hardy clap on his back and a sly grin Lambert walked away with a whistle. Not, as Geralt would have expected, a jaunty tune, but one more subdued. One that evoked a memory Geralt wasn’t sure he wanted to examine.

_We could head to the coast. Get away for a while._

Geralt frowned as he walked away. That _song_ again. What was it about that song?

“Geralt, Vesemir said you have a library!” Ciri greeted him excitedly as he joined them in the main hall. The witcher offered a smile in response.

“We do. Plenty of books to be found there.”

“Can I see it?”

“Later,” Geralt affirmed. “Tomorrow perhaps. It’s late and it’s been a long journey.”

“But I’m not-” she yawned, mid-sentence, her eyes wide as she finished speaking, slightly chagrined. “sleepy.”

Geralt smirked.

“Come along, little sparrow,” Yennefer said, coming over and turning the girl away from him. “Vesemir said he can show us to rooms we can use while we’re here.”

Lambert had poured him an ale and was shuffling his Gwent deck when Vesemir returned, still looking at Geralt with a frown.

“What?” The white-haired witcher finally snarled.

“Tell me again how the Child Surprise came about?”

Geralt recounted the betrothal banquet in Cintra, the cursed knight, the Elder magic. He spoke of the curse breaking and Duny demanding he be repaid and Pavetta realizing she was pregnant right after he’d claimed the Law of Surprise.

“Why were you at the Cintran Princess’ betrothal banquet in the first place?” Vesemir asked after he finished.

Geralt sighed and rolled his eyes.

“The bard. It was his payment for services rendered. I was supposed to be his bodyguard against jealous cuckolds.”

“Services rendered, oh I’ll bet,” Lambert snickered.

“Hmm,” Vesemir was frowning again. “And the sorceress, you said she was bound to you by a wish? One made to a djinn?”

“Yeah. Jaskier thought he had the wishes when we opened the amphora and when I wished for peace it went after him instead. Magical injury, magical remedy,” Geralt shrugged.

“Jaskier, the bard?” Vesemir clarified, his eyes were gleaming though Geralt couldn’t read the expression on his face. “The same one from Cintra?”

“That’s right,” Geralt agreed slowly. “What’s this about, Vesemir? He’s just a human.”

“Oh, nothing. Just curious is all. You keep interesting company as always, my boy.”

Geralt snorted derisively in response.

“Not sure I keep it so much as I can’t get rid of it.”

Vesemir fixed him with a hard look.

“I would advise you to be careful of saying things like that anymore. Like it or not that child _is_ yours now, and the sorceress bound to you.”

Geralt grunted in response, but Vesemir didn’t press further; instead, the older witcher made to leave the room.

“Turning in already, old man?”

“Repairs start tomorrow, whether Eskel is here or not,” he replied. “But no, I have some research to do.”

Eskel didn’t arrive the following day, nor the day after. Geralt brought Ciri to the library, but the girl got antsy quickly enough, knowing with the heavy snow only scant days away that there would be little time to be outside for the remainder of winter.

“Besides, I don’t want to bother him,” she said, bouncing around him as brushed Roach down thoroughly a few days later.

“Bother who?”

“Vesemir, duh,” she rolled her eyes at him. “He seems really busy. He’s got books everywhere.”

Geralt made it a point to peek into the library that night, but after finishing the day’s chores was one again waylaid when Eskel came into the courtyard of Kaer Morhen with Scorpion laden with supplies. He was bundled up and covered in a layer of frost now that the snow had started to pick up and the temperatures were dropping quickly.

Vesemir came rushing out of the keep the same time he arrived, almost as if it were choreographed.

“Eskel, the trail. Is it still passable?”

“Fuck, Vesemir, I barely made it myself. By tomorrow it won’t be safe at all to try.”

The older witcher looked frantic, wide-eyed even as he looked out past the wall at the steadily falling snow and he exhaled harshly, rubbing a hand over his face.

“ _Fuck_ ,” the Master of the Keep breathed emphatically.

Eskel and Geralt looked at him in confusion.

“Vesemir?” Eskel asked. “What’s going on?”

“Is something wrong?” Geralt added.

“Not something you’re concerned with apparently,” Vesemir replied to Geralt, his tone harsh. He moved his gaze to Eskel. “There is a Force wandering around the Continent.”

At Eskel’s sharp intake of breath Geralt knew he was missing something big.

“What the fuck,” he asked sharply, looking between them, “is a Force?”

“They’re extremely rare,” Eskel was the one to answer. “And it’s not easy to confirm. They’re a… I don’t even know how to explain. They’re a _Force_.”

“A magical entity? Like Cirilla?”

“No,” Vesemir cut in, shaking his head. “Your girl, I believe she’s a Source. She has a natural affinity for magic, but difficult to control. A _Force_ on the other hand, is an agent of Destiny.”

Geralt scoffed.

“Destiny is a pile of horseshit, Vesemir. You know that as well as anyone.”

“No,” Eskel said shaking his head. “No, there are some things in this world too great to be mere coincidence. Forces, rare as they are, help move it along. They’re the kind of people who seem to have insane luck, always in the right place at the right time. Situations that would be rare under normal circumstances seem commonplace to them. Their influence is subtle, you’d never realize it if you weren’t actively watching for it.”

“But,” Vesemir picked up, “if you do find a Force, they can be…manipulated, for lack of a better word. Their luck affects those around them. Imagine wanting something desperately and suddenly having it. That’s the power of proximity to a Force. It’s part of why they’re so rare. Left alone, they unknowingly shape Destiny as it is meant to be. But turned from that task and the natural order of things begins to fall away. The last time I met a Force was long before you were even born.”

He was looking away from them now, his expression almost haunted.

“She was a scholar. Studied the sky and the weather, wanted to understand it so the farms around her home could plan their seasons better. Someone noticed that villages she traveled through had prosperous yields despite the poor growing seasons, and they took is as a sign. By the time I caught up she’d been sacrificed and bled dry. The ground there is still dead to this day, the village empty. The following year…well, you’ve heard of the Great Famine?”

He looked back at them. Eskel looked grim, and Geralt was frowning.

“So you see, it is _imperative_ we find the Force, lest the world fall into madness.”

“How do you know that wasn’t Destiny’s great plan all along?” Geralt asked and Eskel’s gaze snapped toward him. Vesemir beat him to it.

“Every record, rare as they are, of known Forces who succeed at shaping Destiny all end the same way. A reward. A _metamorphosis_ , is what they call it _._ I wouldn’t call blood spilt such a thing, would you?”

Geralt hummed and looked away, even as Eskel looked toward the blowing snow outside the gate.

“We can only hope whoever it is survives the season and we can find them in the spring,” Eskel said, finally untacking the supplies from Scorpion.

Vesemir shook his head.

“The Path still has to come first,” he relented with a sigh. “But all three of you will need to keep a watch for him.”

Eskel paused and turned back toward Vesemir.

“Him?”

“Him,” Vesemir agreed, looking at Geralt. “Jaskier. The bard.”

Geralt barked out a laugh, though it lacked any real humor.

“Jaskier’s just a bard, Vesemir. There’s no touch of Destiny upon him or anything fantastic at all. He’s a foppish, peacocking, very _human_ , performer.”

“Who is the reason you were at the betrothal of a Cintran princess.”

Geralt snarled.

“And the reason you met your sorceress.”

Geralt clenched his jaw, breathing out through his nose.

“Jaskier isn’t- he’s not.”

“Tell me, Geralt. How many times has your bard gotten into an unlikely situation and gotten out of it? And not only gotten out of it, but better off than he’d been before?”

Unbidden, the melody of the slow song tickled at Geralt’s mind as he thought back to his first meeting with Jaskier and the poor performance in Posada that led to him following the witcher to the countryside and the elves. How they’d gone from being threatened with death to walking away free and Jaskier being gifted with a lute from the elven king. He thought of the betrothal and the short lord who had accused Jaskier of bedding his wife. Despite Geralt’s fun at insisting Jaskier was, in fact, a eunuch by way of an ox the bard had actually earned coin from the accuser instead.

A dozen other similar memories flitted through his mind.

Tavern brawls that somehow led to free meals. Close calls that ended with extra coin. Injured in the middle of nowhere and happening upon a healer on the road.

Time and time again, Jaskier’s luck prevailed.

“Fuck.”

“Geralt,” Eskel said slowly, turning to face him. “You see it now, don’t you? His influence. The way the world has moved around him, connected you.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” he repeated.

Geralt walked away, the lyrics of the song still echoing in his head.

_Beyond the storms and the seas  
The sun and the breeze  
The stars in the galaxy  
Beyond the time that we take  
The days that we make  
I’m always gonna be with you_

Jaskier had connected him with Ciri. Had connected him with Yennefer.

Vesemir had seen it immediately and he had _missed it_.

_I’m yours forever  
There is no end in sight for us_

Lambert hadn’t ever met him but commented on their closeness.

_Nothing could measure  
The kind of strength inside our hearts_

Yennefer insisted Jaskier had feelings him.

_It’s all connected  
We’re all together in this love_

Vesemir was adamant it was Destiny.

_Don’t you forget it  
We’re all connected in this love_

Even Eskel had seen their connection.

Winter had only begun, but Geralt already knew it was going to be a long wait for spring.

==

Pharaoh’s Code | Next Chapter

It was a good winter, despite the odd, underlying tension. The thought that the Force, that _Jaskier_ was out there alone and unknowingly shaping the world around him had Geralt on edge more than he had thought it would. Lambert had scoffed, laughed, and listened somberly as Vesemir explained the bard’s unique position and agreed to keep an ear to the ground for rumors of the bard come spring.

“Can’t be that hard,” he remarked. “Every bard I have the misfortune of suffering through seems to credit your boyfriend with a song or three.”

“Not. My. Boyfriend,” Geralt snarled for what felt like the hundredth time that winter. Lambert only cackled as he danced away from the half-hearted blow swung his way.

Eskel was more subtle, but no less annoying about it.

“You’ve spoken of him before, but I didn’t realize…twenty years, Geralt. That’s a long time for a human.”

“Hmm.”

“He must care you for a great deal. I didn’t really realize it, but I heard that song in the village when I was down for supplies. _Yours Forever_?”

“Hmm.”

“Anyway, I’ll keep an eye out for him. Jaskier, right? Remind me what he looks like?”

Geralt grunted.

“Brunet. Blue eyes. Tall. Likes to wear colors that make his eyes look brighter.”

Eskel choked, even as Geralt rubbed a hand over his face.

“He’s a _bard_ , Eskel. He’ll be the first to tell you looking good is half his profession.”

“Sure, sure. You just happened to notice the colors he chooses make his eyes bright.”

Geralt lunged at his brother.

He only wished he could shut Yen up the same way he could his brothers.

“I absolutely cannot believe you never realized,” she repeated again, sometime after Midwinter night when the chill in the air had finally begun to lessen. “Honestly, the first thing you ever told me was you’d pay any price to see him well. I know couples married decades who wouldn’t make that offer.”

“ _Yen_.”

“Geralt,” she parroted with a teasing smirk.

They were so bad even Ciri had begun pestering him with questions.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Jaskier?”

“It wasn’t important,” he replied as she followed him through the motions of still another sword exercise. Honestly, how many different exercises did Vesemir _know_?

“It sure seems important. Two decades, Geralt?”

“When you live as long as I do, it hardly matters.”

“It matters to a human though,” and then quieter. “It would matter to _me._ ”

Geralt sighed and turned to face her, lowering his sword.

“Cirilla,” he began, but stopped. She gazed at him with those green eyes that seemed too young but had seen too much. “Jaskier was. Jaskier is.” He sighed again and rubbed a hand over his face. “Witchers are feared. Unwanted. Humans hate us for being different. Mutants. Created unnaturally.”

“But you help them. You save people.”

“Hmm. To many we are a necessary evil, but an unwanted one. Jaskier never saw it that way, was never afraid of me. The first time we met he came right up to me in a tavern and asked for a review of his performance.”

“Was it any good?”

“He was young,” he grimaced. “Jaskier can sing, but…the song was terrible.” His face held a faint smile as he recalled the nonsense about pikes and drakes terrorizing the rural village.

“His songs are so popular though!” Ciri protested. “And they’re _beautiful_ too! _Beyond the storms and the seas, the sun and the breeze_.” She sang, her untrained voice clear and bright, echoing throughout the courtyard.

“He got better.”

“Did you ever tell him that?” She demanded to know, still dogging his steps as they returned the practice swords to the armory.

“No. I told him his singing was like ordering a pie and finding it had no filling.”

“ _Geralt_!” She gasped, scandalized.

“I was tired,” Geralt retorted in protest.

Ciri was thoughtful again.

“And that…that’s how you met Yenna?”

“Hmm. Seems someone has been listening to conversations she wasn’t invited to.”

Ciri scoffed.

“Grandmother never told me anything. We know how well _that_ method worked out.”

“Ciri-”

“I just want to know what this thing inside me is, why I’m special. I heard Vesemir say I’m a Source, but I don’t know what that _means_.”

She stared at him, her eyes bright.

He held her gaze, but relented first.

“And?”

“And I _also_ heard him call Jaskier a _Force_. That he’s how Destiny brought us together?”

Geralt hummed again.

“I didn’t know,” he admitted after a moment of silence. “About Jaskier. I never realized. It seems foolish now, but… Jaskier _is_ a force to be reckoned with when he puts his mind to it. I had a… rather unflattering title when we met. He promised to rid me of it, have people singing my praises instead.”

“And he did,” Ciri surmised.

“And he did,” Geralt agreed. “The White Wolf. That’s what he said the people would call me. Now I hear it everywhere I go.”

“Fitting,” she remarked, her eyes gleaming.

“Hmm.”

They were quiet again, looking over at the valley below together, the snow lighter than it had been the day before.

“So… are they right? Does he love you?”

“Jaskier loves everyone.”

He caught her roll her eyes in his peripheral sight.

“But does he love _you_?”

“I-” He shook his head minutely. “I don’t know. Yen seems to think so.”

“So do Lambert and Eskel,” she said with grin. “Eskel thinks you’re repressing your feelings.”

“I’m going to kill them both,” he snarled.

She laughed, open and bright.

“No, you won’t.”

“No,” he agreed. “But there’s plenty of time to make them wish I had.”

By the time spring thinned the snow enough for the witchers to return to the Path they had made an agreement to each take a different area. Though they tended to do so anyway, it was more formal this time. Better to cover more ground to find the wandering Force before something could happen. Even Vesemir mentioned leaving the keep for a month or two to traverse Kaedwen and neighboring Redania.

The first month or so was quieter than Geralt could recall in recent years, without Jaskier catching up to him in the early spring. Yennefer and Ciri, though fine company on the road, didn’t fill the long hours with joyful song and chatter. Nights spent making camp around a fire in the woods, or taking a well-deserved rest at an inn felt muted somehow. As though the world were painted in shades of gray instead of a spectrum of color.

Geralt didn’t dwell on why that was.

It was at the end of spring, as summer came sweeping across the land with a breeze of heat and humidity, that they finally caught the first hint of Jaskier. A new song. Played, once again, not by the writer but a fresh-faced youth who couldn’t have been much older than Jaskier had been in Posada.

“ _Close your eyes so you see my vision  
Unite the souls so there’s no division  
Look into the future, we see all seasons  
Aiming for the top, but what’s the reason  
Hands to the sky and realize we’re free  
We’ve become the legends we were meant to be  
Now open your eyes and you will see  
I could lead you home, just follow me”_

It was…different. As though it were a message, strange and coded. Geralt could help but feel as though it were meant for him. As the words washed over him he did, in fact, close his eyes. He could picture the winter at Kaer Morhen clearly, sitting around the fire with Yennefer and Ciri, Eskel and Lambert, Vesemir and-

He frowned, opening his eyes. Someone else was meant to be there. Someone else that was supposed to be part of his home.

Jaskier?

“I see you,” Ciri said, looking at him, her eyes bright. “And me, learning from you. And from Yennefer.”

“I…see that too,” Yennefer said, looking somewhere between confused and concerned. “What is this? What is this magic?”

“Not magic,” Geralt intoned, straightening with realization. “This must be what Vesemir spoke of. Jaskier’s influence on Destiny. It’s through his _song_.”

“Why now?” Yennefer asked. “Why not before?”

Geralt shook his head slowly. “It _was_ there before. We just never noticed because we weren’t looking for it. The first song he ever wrote for me… he made good on his word. The people tell the tales of The White Wolf.”

They waited until the young bard finished his short set before approaching.

“Bard,” Geralt all but barked. The young man dropped the cup he had just grabbed, splattering ale down his front and spluttering out the drink he had just taken.

“You- you’re!”

“Where did you learn that song?”

“I- I’m sorry? You’ll have to be more specific, Sir Witcher.”

“The one you said was by Master Jaskier, _close your eyes_ ,” he quoted, not so much sung as snarled.

“Oh! Master Jaskier came through Oxenfurt just before winter. We were all upset he didn’t stay, but he spent a week teaching. I learned it then, along with a few others. Have you heard _Yours Forever_?”

“Yes,” Geralt bit out shortly before the bard could expound any further.

A lead, finally. Oxenfurt. But the bard hadn’t stayed for the winter. Still, it was the first they’d heard of the troubadour since leaving Kaer Morhen and surely he would have told friends in the city where he was headed, his plans for the year.

“Oxenfurt then?” Yennefer asked, with a grin.

“It’s on the other side of Redania, plenty of work to be done between here and there,” Geralt replied. “But we’ll head that direction.”

Of course what should have been a straight shot along main roads and taking no more than a few days turned into a clusterfuck in short order. The next village over had a small group of Nilfgaardian soldiers scouting around and they were forced to veer sharply off their planned course for the soldiers to lose their trail. The village after that had no love of witchers and chased them out of town. They ended up much further south than planned, crossing the border into Temeria before finding a village that had a contract out and promise of a night in a cozy inn.

By coincidence, or perhaps not, the tavern had a bard performing that evening after Geralt returned with the trophy from a giant centipede that had been terrorizing the fields around the village. A stout woman with flowers woven in her hair, who danced and flirted her way around the room, singing songs familiar and not all the while. As she wound down her performance, she took a seat and the strange melody once again rang out around them.

“ _Close your eyes so you see my vision_ ”

Geralt listened intently to the words, still struck by how much he felt they were meant for him. With Ciri and Yennefer sitting beside him as he listened he felt peaceful in a way he didn’t usually outside of Kaer Morhen, but still feeling as though something was missing. A piece of the puzzle not yet in place.

“Didn’t the other bard play this song?” He overheard someone ask from a table nearby.

“Aye, the one who came through a few weeks ago. He played it better though,” his companion added.

“Of course he did,” the woman pouring ale chimed in. “It was his song.”

“Ah, that explains it them,” the first man nodded sagely.

As the barmaid made their way around the room, Geralt barely waited for her to approach their table before he looked up at her and spoke.

“You mentioned another bard came through a few weeks ago?”

She looked startled, but nodded, her eyes wide.

“Did you catch his name?”

“Of course, sir. Making quite a name for himself, the handsome Dandelion.”

Geralt jerked back as though he’d been struck. Could they have been wrong? The other performer though, in the village they first heard it…

The barmaid must have noticed his reaction for she leaned in and dropped her voice.

“Between you and me, there have been rumors that Nilfgaard is looking for the White Wolf’s bard, Master Jaskier. And he’s well aware, or so I’ve heard.” She caught his eye and winked. Without a doubt she knew who she was speaking with.

Dandelion. They’d heard of a bard called Dandelion weeks earlier already but he once again hadn’t put it together, hadn’t realized that Dandelion _was_ Jaskier.

“Clever,” Yennefer remarked. “So many people don’t look much further than a name.”

She glanced at Ciri, still going by Fiona more often than not outside of the keep.

“Despite how he presents himself Jaskier isn’t a complete fool,” Geralt said taking a drink of his freshly poured ale. “And he knows how to lay low when needed. You’d be amazed how often he can convince people to look the other way to make his escape.”

“As yes, all those jealous cuckolds.”

“Hmm.”

“ _I can lead you home, just follow me_ ”

“We’re not going to Oxenfurt yet,” Geralt declared suddenly, his gaze going back to the bard.

“We’re not?” Yennefer asked, quirking an eyebrow up in time with her question.

“The words in this song…lead you home. I think it’s a clue. He’s headed home, to Lettenhove.”

Yennefer frowned, her expression doubtful, but she shrugged.

“If you insist.”

Changing direction to Lettenhove turned them south through Temeria while continuing west toward the coast. The roads were, as always, dotted with villages and little towns. Some of them had trouble with monsters, some without. Perhaps the most interesting of those though were the ones a bard had been through. Now that they knew Jaskier was being smart enough to at least _somewhat_ cover his tracks they had stopped asking about Master Jaskier or the Witcher’s Bard and instead inquired about Dandelion.

At times they were met with confusion, no such bard having come through, at others outright hostility.

“What’re you asking for?”

“He’s a friend,” Ciri piped up, her wide eyes glistening (with mirth at playing the poor townsfolk, but if it looked like unshed tears it only worked in her favor.) “We were meant to meet up earlier this year but with Nilfgaard…”

Negative feelings toward Nilfgaard seemed to be a reliable constant wherever they went, the people of the Northern Kingdoms unhappy with the dark-swathed army tearing up and through their lands without a care.

“Bad enough Nilfgaard can’t take care of its own, but to come up here acting all righteous…” The man trailed off before giving a curt nod. “Aye, Dandelion himself seemed to hold no love of Nilfgaard. Suspect he had an unfortunate brush with them at some point, then again word has it they like to shake down every bard they come across looking for the one who sings about witchers.” He looked at them again and Geralt fought the urge to flinch as the gaze flit across his hair and eyes. “We don’t want any trouble here, but we won’t cause any for you either. You’re a few weeks behind, but he was heading west.”

They didn’t try to stay the night there, riding a ways out of town and making camp instead.

“Seems your intuition serves you well,” Yennefer said, her tone teasing as she looked at him from across the fire.

Geralt merely grunted. They may have been weeks behind Jaskier, but they’d be across the border to Kerack within the week, and to Lettenhove shortly after.

Jaskier would be safe, and Geralt.

Well. Geralt knew the bard wasn’t perfect. He certainly wouldn’t put the human on a pedestal. But… he did owe Jaskier an apology. The so-called shit-shoveling had led him to his family. Had led him home. Be it Destiny or some other force working through him, he owed Jaskier his thanks for bringing Ciri and Yennefer into his life, and with them great joy.

He wasn’t quite ready to examine that missing element yet, even if it was a blatantly Jaskier-shaped hole.

==

Karma Wheel | Pulse

There was absolutely no doubt Jaskier was a child of Lettenhove from the moment they entered its borders. The viscounty was bright, loud, and overly cheerful. The first thing they noticed after leading Roach and Yennefer’s stallion Aster to the stables was the music echoing up and down the street; not a lute to Geralt’s disappointment but a drum and flute accompanied by a female singer. The buildings of the village were draped in bright colors, reds and oranges mostly, the exact color of the flowers that seemed to be absolutely _everywhere_. There were even bowls of petals sitting on steps and windowsills. The flowers left a fragrant scent in the air, one that ought to have been overwhelming to his enhanced senses but instead was oddly calming.

There were booths being constructed, clearly for some sort of upcoming festival and the further into the town they rode the colors started to shift, from red and gold to green and violet. In the town square it was a cacophony of colors. It should have looked garish. It shouldn’t have _worked_ , but the flowers, the tapestries, the pennants strung about in their wild variety seemed to fit. The flute and vocalist had yielded the attention of the square to a circle of drummers, old and young alike, keeping a beat everyone seemed to move to, especially the kids running about the square throwing showers of petals and colorful scraps of paper.

“What do you suppose they’re celebrating?” Ciri asked, looking around, her eyes catching on a booth being filled with sweet smelling pastries. One of the kids standing nearby looked at her as though scandalized.

“Where are you _from_? Do they not celebrate White Night?”

“White Night?” Yennefer asked, pointedly looking at the colorful décor.

“The sun barely sets, so we stay up all night! The whole of the viscounty will be here to dance and play.”

“Will a bard be playing?’

The boy shrugged.

“Sure. Lotsa bards come and play throughout the night.”

“No, I mean…a bard from Lettenhove? From here? You may know him as Jaskier…or Dandelion?”

“Viscount de Lettenhove?” The boy’s eyes went wide and gleamed with excitement as he whisper-shouted the name, just before he deflated. “He came last summer, but I ain’t seen him about this year. Last year he played all day and all night without a break. I think he slept the whole week after, but nobody wanted him to stop playing. Is he supposed to be here?”

“We’re looking for him,” Yennefer cut in smoothly, not wanting to accidentally get the boy’s hopes up even as Geralt’s own hopes were waning. “We’ve been on the road for a while and thought he may have headed this way since it’s his home.”

“Ain’t seen him,” the boy repeated. “But my pa might know. The woodcarver, just around the corner there.”

The boy pointed to a street across the square before running off again to catch up with his friends. They followed his directions to a small shop that had the door propped open and smelt of fresh-cut fir and pine. Two men were laughing, both working on small, handheld carvings as they entered. It took a moment to realize the animal shapes in their hands were whistles. A basket at their feet held an assortment of small toys and noisemakers, undoubtedly for the upcoming festival.

“Can we help you?” One of the men asked, gray haired and wrinkled, but still obviously plenty strong. “We’re not actually open on account of White Night.”

“A boy in the square said to come here, that you might be able to point us in the right direction?”

The younger of the pair laughed and clapped the older on the shoulder as he set down his carving before standing.

“You must’ve met my Albert then. Name’s Norbert, this here’s my pa, Tolbert. Come to Lettenhove for the White Night?”

“No, we’re looking for a bard actually.”

“White Night performers will be out in the square all night and day,” Tolbert grumbled, eyes fixed on his carving as his hands moved in short, even strokes.

“It’s a bard from Lettenhove – the Viscount?” Yennefer cut in.

“Julian?” Tolbert’s head shot up at that and Norbert looked as excited his son had. “Cutting it close this year, didn’t think he was coming.”

Geralt grunted.

“He seemed to be headed this way, but now we aren’t so sure. Who would we talk with who would know for certain?”

Norbert gestured toward the door and pointed north with his thumb.

“If you take the main road just outside of town you’ll reach the Viscounty Estate. If he is here and hasn’t come through the square yet he’d be there with his family,” he shook his head and gathered his carving to sit and start again. “Shame. Nobody plays White Night quite like little Julek does.”

“Thank you,” Yennefer called as she ushered the other two out the door and back onto the road. “Well this seems a bust.”

“Not yet, he may just be with his family,” Geralt said, striding away from the woodcarver and up the road in the direction indicated. It seemed every corner of Lettenhove was decorated for White Night, and there was more than one drummer to be found as they wound their way along the street to the north side of the town. Set a short distance away behind a high wall and iron gates was an immaculate sprawling house with well-kept grounds surrounding it. A crest in the iron of the gates boasted a bird carrying a flower as it soared through the sky.

Fitting.

The gates were propped open, and the guards didn’t seem troubled as they approached.

“Welcome to the Pankratz Estate. May I enquire your business?” One called when they were well within range.

“We’re looking for the Viscount, for Julian?” Geralt asked, suddenly unsure.

The guard looked surprised.

“You have news of Julian?”

“News?” Geralt echoed.

“He’s not here then?” Yennefer surmised.

The guards exchanged a look.

“Not since last summer. Played all of White Night and-”

“Slept the whole week after?” Geralt finished with a sigh, his hope of finding Jaskier in Lettenhove now thoroughly dashed.

“Seems someone’s been telling the tale already,” one of the pair said with a laugh. “You can go in, if you’d like. I’m sure Karolina would be delighted to meet you after all this time and the tales Julek has spun.”

“Hmm.”

Geralt glanced at Yennefer who returned it with a shrug.

“They may have some idea of where he’d be, if not here. And if not, it’s not terribly far up to Oxenfurt from here.”

Geralt nodded his thanks at the guards and moved toward the estate.

There were people out in the grounds, pruning bushes and picking flowers – the same colors they had seen decorating the town. Perhaps most surprising were the friendly smiles and waves they received as they passed by drawing ever nearer toward the large manor.

A well-dressed man opened the door as they approached and offered a small bow.

“Welcome to the Pankratz Estate, honored guests. What brings you to our home on this Festival Eve?”

Geralt and Yennefer shared a glance before Geralt stepped forward.

“News of Jas- Julian.”

“Ah, the Viscountess will be delighted, please, follow me to the parlor.”

For the obvious wealth of the Estate the parlor room they were led to was fine, but not overly resplendent. Here too were bowls of the red and orange flower petals, subtly scenting the room with their fragrance.

Yennefer was walking beside a bookshelf, running her hands over the spines of the books there while Ciri was peering at a colorful tapestry when the sound of footsteps reached them. They turned almost in sync toward the door as a woman swept in a flurry of skirts. She was taller than most women and wearing a gown of violet that gleamed brighter when the light of the sun through the window struck it. Her hair, brown, was done up in sweeping braids and her eyes were the exact same shade of blue as Jaskier’s.

“I’m told you have news of my brother? Has something happened to him?”

Their hesitance in responding was enough to give her the wrong idea and she collapsed over the back of the nearest settee, a hand pressed to her breast and a broken “ _No_!” escaping her lips.

“No!” Geralt tried to placate, the sound coming out harshly, far more than he had intended for it to. He reached out a hand as though to offer comfort than pulled it back and shook his head as she looked up and met his eyes. “No, nothing has happened. As far as we know Jaskier is fine. We actually came here looking for him.”

She stood slowly, dabbing at her eyes.

“So you _don’t_ have news of my brother?”

“That’s not entirely true,” Yennefer said stepping toward the woman. “We know he passed through Craag An a few weeks ago, he appeared to be heading this direction which is why we came.”

A shaky smile crossed her face even as she shook her head.

“No, I’m sorry. Julek came through last summer and played all of White Night,” she laughed a little bit. “And then proceeded to sleep-”

“For the entire week after,” Geralt interrupted. “So we’ve heard.”

This time she really _did_ laugh. It was then she got a good look at them and her spine straightened, her eyes wide.

“Oh, goodness. You must be the famous White Wolf we’ve heard so much about. I do beg you forgive my poor manners. I am Karolina Wiktoria Pankratz, Viscountess de Lettenhove.”

“Geralt of Rivia, this is Yennefer of Vengerberg and F-”

“Ciri,” she interrupted. “I’m Ciri.”

Geralt pressed his lips into a thin line, even as Karolina smiled at the young lady.

“My brother didn’t mention you, dear one. However did you join such curious company?”

“She’s my daughter,” Geralt cut in, even as Yennefer startled at the declaration and Ciri turned to him, her eyes shining and her face flushed with pleasure as a small, genuine smile tugged at her lips.

“Oh! I apologize, I didn’t mean anything by it. Julek, for all his delightful songs, certainly knows what _not_ to sing,” she offered them another smile. “I am sorry he’s not here. I wish I had news for you, but I’m glad to hear word of him at the very least.”

“You may still be able to help,” Yennefer said, glancing at Geralt. “Would you know where else he would go? We planned to head towards Oxenfurt next.”

Karolina nodded.

“A safe bet, there or Novigrad. Then again, my brother lives to surprise. Last summer he mentioned both Beauclair and Lan Exeter in the same sentence, so you never can tell with that one. Still, if anyone knows for certain where he’s run off to his friends in Oxenfurt would be the ones.”

“Even if someone in Oxenfurt knows where he went it’s unlikely we’d make it to Lan Exeter or Beauclair with enough time to make it back to Ka- _home_ for the winter,” Yennefer remarked.

“You can’t just-” A quick glance at Yennefer showed her shaking her head. Right, no portals. Too easy to track. “Hmm.”

“I’d like to see Oxenfurt,” Ciri offered, looking between them. “It’s said the Academy there is the largest in the Northern Kingdoms.”

“It is,” Karolina confirmed with a nod. “And always bustling with students and scholars, looking toward the future.”

“It’s the best we have to go on,” Yennefer added.

“Hmm.”

“If I do see my silly little brother, I can send word? Let him know you’re looking for him?”

Geralt nodded slowly.

“I would appreciate that.”

She smiled again, wide and cheerful and so much like her brother it was aching to see it.

“Is there anything else I can assist you with? You’re quite welcome here and – oh! Are you staying for the Festival? White Night is quite the event, I’m sure you’ve heard.”

Geralt glanced at his companions to see Ciri looking eager and excited and Yennefer with one eyebrow raised. The sorceress shrugged.

“Fine,” Geralt bit out. “We’ll stay.”

“Then allow me to offer you rooms here, for however long you need them,” Karolina declared, with a clap of her hands. “And a hot bath. Perhaps a little coin for the Festival?”

“No,” Geralt barked. “No, that’s all right. I have…plenty of coin. This is…more than enough.”

“Oh,” Karolina deflated visibly a fraction but her smile came back in full force a moment later. “Of course, I’m sorry again, I didn’t mean to offend. You mean so much to Julek, I just…well. I’ll have someone show you to your rooms.”

She swept out again in a swirl of skirts, and the same older man who’d answered the door arrived a moment later. He led them through the halls of the manor and to a pair of adjoining rooms. They were spacious and finely furnished but lacking any personal touches, clearly guest rooms. Before Geralt could step inside, a familiar scent caught his attention. He waited for the manservant to depart before he turned on his feel and followed it down the hall to a door that was slightly ajar. He hesitated for a half second before pushing the door open and stepping aside.

The bedroom was similar to the guest rooms they’d been given, with a large canopy bed in deep blue bedding. A writing desk to one side was covered in notes, a dried out inkwell sitting amongst them. A music stand stood near the desk, pages of music set upon it, a composition half finished, the lines of the staffs empty halfway down, without the notes to finish the song.

Something about that thought pained Geralt. What would the world be without Jaskier’s music? What if he never got to tell the end of the story?

What if his story never got told?

Against his better judgement, Geralt crossed the room to look at the desk. Unsurprisingly the notes were poetry and lyrics, lines of music jotted down in a fit of inspiration. There was one that was out of place though, and Geralt lifted it to take a closer look.

 _White Night_ _in Lettenhove. I was hoping the next time I played here that Geralt would be with me. There’s something, I don’t know, whimsical about a party that lasts all night where the sun never sets._

_On second thought, Geralt would hate it, wouldn’t he? Gods, what was I even thinking. We could go to the coast. I’ve been such a fool._

_And I still am, aren’t I? Falling in love is easy. Falling out of love… that is considerably harder to do._

_I don’t know if I realized how much I meant it at the time but… yours forever. I don’t think anyone I fall in love with would ever compare._

_I…_ there’s a splatter of ink across the page here _will need to come back to this later. Karolina is pounding at the door. Apparently whatever performer has dared to the grace the square is driving the people away. Time to go be the hero._

_Well. Of a sort. Saving a small festival isn’t quite like saving a life, is it?_

Geralt lay the note back on the desk slowly, breathing carefully as the words unwound inside of him.

Jaskier loved him. Had loved him for…a while. A long while. That song, that damn song. _Yours Forever_ , when had it been written? Years ago. Years. After Cintra? Before Rinde. _Years_. Geralt felt…foolish. He knew Jaskier cared for him. But…love? It wasn’t a crazy idea. He felt love for his brothers, for Vesemir. He loved Ciri. He loved Yen. He just had never considered Jaskier in any vein of love. Did he love him as a friend?

Yes. Without a doubt. He’d once offered any price to save his life and he’d stand by that.

But did he love him as something _more_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I was going to call it a Manifest, but Manifest Destiny has some pretty negative connotations so I was like, yeah let's avoid that and pay homage to my love of Star Wars (OT) and Marvel Comics instead.
> 
> Yeah, there's no actual Tetris in this; each scene is just loosely tied to the music and levels of Journey Mode in Tetris Effect (in the order they appear in Journey mode, that was part of my challenge to myself). I played a lot of Tetris writing this. Like, more so than usual (it was my most played game of 2019 according to Playstation.)
> 
> Related - all music/lyrics referenced are Hydelic/Tetris Effect unless otherwise noted. And if you haven't heard it, you should check out the soundtrack. It's pretty legit.
> 
> The slow burn tag is real. But also not because these two don't even reunite until Part Five.
> 
> White Night is a real thing! Granted it's in northern Russia, but still. Thought it would be a fun summer celebration to throw in.
> 
> As always, this fic is complete - every other day postings if you wanna wait and read the whole thing.


	2. PART TWO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda slightly maybe super vague book spoilers? Kinda. Maybe.

PART TWO

Jellyfish Chorus | Joy

The Festival in Lettenhove had been…something. Ciri certainly seemed to enjoy herself (and was strangely thrilled with the wooden whistle shaped undeniably like a wolf that had been given to her by Norbert the woodcarver.) It all just had felt oddly…pointless. All that decoration, the food, the music, the _noise_ and for what? Because the sun barely set for a night? The festivities continued well into the following day, though much more subdued than the night had been, children sleeping on aproned laps, and young men and women moving slow and tired-eyed. There had been good cheer throughout though. Geralt hadn’t caught a scent of fear in the town, just a warm joy.

“That’s the point, Geralt,” Yennefer had pointed out as they turned Aster and Roach northwards out of Lettenhove, planning to angle towards Redania through Temeria. “Look how happy they are. Maybe there’s no real cause to celebrate, but isn’t the joy of celebration reason enough?”

“Careful, Yen,” he replied with a hint of a teasing grin. “You’ll start sounding like Jaskier.”

She’d scoffed at that, riding ahead with Ciri and pointing out some of the native plants and quizzing the young girl on their uses in poultice and potions.

Their plans, as happens to all of the best laid of them, soon went awry. Rumors of a water hag in a near-ish coastal village had them turning west and into Cidaris. Geralt took the contract and enough damage from the hag and drowners that shared the space while bring them down to be laid up for a few extra days even with Yennefer’s help. By the time they were ready to move again offers for a variety of contracts had appeared along the coast of Cidaris.

Geralt resigned himself to a delayed arrival in Oxenfurt.

Still, the warmth of summer made the coast a delight for Ciri who enjoyed walking along the water, and splashing about on particularly warm days. Even Yennefer smiled more than Geralt could usually recall, especially when watching the younger girl in the surf.

They were between villages, making camp as the sun dipped just beneath the horizon line when Ciri called out from where she was standing calf-deep in the water startling Geralt and Yennefer both.

“Oh, look! Look! Yennefer, Geralt! You have to come see!”

Yennefer gave a put upon sigh even as she hiked up the skirts of her dress and waded into the shallow tide, but her surprised, delighted sound as took in what Ciri was looking at made Geralt hurry to catch up.

In the water, drifting with along with the motion of the waves, were dozens of little glowing creatures.

“Moon jellyfish,” Yennefer exclaimed, her voice tinged with awe and joy. Her eyes flickered from creature to creature, watching them roll through the water. “I’ve seen them before, but not in…”

She trailed off, a soft smile on her face as she stood beside Ciri, her gaze fixed on the glowing creatures.

Geralt watched the pair of them marveling at the jellyfish drifting gently along, but the moment lost its magic when a memory struck him.

_We could head to the coast. Get away for a while._

He wondered then what it would have been like if he had said yes. Would they have marveled at moon jellyfish in the surf? Walked the barefoot along the edge of the water? Made camp close enough to be lulled to sleep by the rolling waves?

After the numerous contracts Geralt had taken along the coast he felt comfortable making camp near the beach as of late. Ciri had fallen asleep easily after the evening meal, and Yennefer moved to sit on the beach, looking out at the dark water. The glow of the moon jellyfish was gone, the group of them moved on with the currents. He moved to sit beside her.

“You looked happy, earlier.”

“Fond memories, I suppose.”

He snorted.

“Thought happy childhoods made for dull company,” he stated, recalling the conversation from when they’d first met.

Yennefer snorted in derision in response.

“I don’t know if I was every truly a child, especially once I was at Aretuza,” she retorted. A sigh escaped her as she looked back out over the water. She was silent for a long moment before speaking again. “His name was Istredd, and he was my first real love. A Ban Ard boy. We made plans together.” Her smile fell. “Like such foolish children.”

“What happened?”

“Istredd was my first love,” she repeated, “…and my first betrayal. I had been assigned to court in Aedirn, but the Rector of Ban Ard…well. Istredd told him about my heritage and they tried to have me reassigned to Nilfgaard. That’s why Borch took such a jab at me, though how he knew…” She scoffed again. “Aretuza is a place of pretty faces and pretty words built on bullshit, so I learned to play their game and went to Aedirn on my own terms and did fuck-all for decades. I don’t know if I can ever truly regret it, seeing as all those decisions brought me to where I am now after only knowing how to _want_ for so long. But I do wonder sometimes.”

“And are you…happy?”

“I’m content. And I’m starting to realize that can be enough,” she glances back toward the fire burning at the campsite and smiled at Ciri deep asleep beside it. “And I think I’m finding what really makes me happy.”

_No, just, ah…trying to work out what pleases me._

Geralt shook the memory away and instead offered her a small smile.

“You should get some rest,” he said. “We’ve got a long way to go tomorrow to the city.”

She returned his smile with one of her own and stood, dusting the sand off of her skirts before moving toward the fire. She leant over Ciri and adjusted the blanket draped loosely over her slumbering form before setting down on her own bedroll nearby.

Geralt didn’t join them immediately. He sat on the beach and looked out at the dark water and continued to _wonder_.

The city of Cidaris proper was bustling when they arrived. Despite the late evening hour the sun was still well above the horizon and the seaside bazaar for which the city was famous was still in full swing. They walked through, leading both horses by their reins and looking at the various wares. The bazaar seemed to have everything one could imagine, including a brightly dressed troubadour wandering up and down the street, occasionally stopping to sing limericks and ditties at the market stalls.

Most of them were somewhat rude and insipid, the recipients offering pained smiles. Geralt couldn’t help but roll his eyes, just before the bard caught sight of him.

“Well now! What a delight _this_ is. A witcher with white hair…you must be the _famous_ White Wolf,” he looked him up. “Or perhaps a puppy? You don’t look all that fierce to me.”

Geralt fixed him with a pointed look and the man cringed back momentarily, a sickly scent of fear spiking from him momentarily before he straightened and stood tall in front of them.

“How irritating it must be,” he continued on. “To have such a talentless wastrel writing music about you. I apologize on behalf of my guild for the difficulty it must bring.”

Geralt stepped forward, the man cowering slightly as the witcher looked down at him.

“Hmm.”

“I mean, well, what I mean is,” the man sputtered, his hands flailing in small motions at his side as he tried to remain standing strong.

“I’ve heard enough of your music just walking through the market to know that if it had been _you_ following me around,” he leaned in close to the musician. “I’d be dead. Likely by my own hand just to escape your drivel.”

“I- how dare you!” The man shrieked. “I- do you even know who I am?”

“Hmm,” Geralt casually looked him over. “I can guess. Marx?”

The man, despite his indignation, preened at the recognition momentarily before scowling again.

“Indeed I am! The esteemed Valdo Marx, Court Troubadour of Cidaris. On personal invitation by King Ethain!”

“Fascinating,” Geralt glanced over at Ciri and fought the urge to smirk. “Ever play in Cintra?”

“What?” The question surprised the man out of his bluster. “Of course not. Calanthe, gods rest her, never invited anyone of renown to play.”

“I beg to differ,” Geralt shrugged. “I know a certain _talentless wastrel_ who was invited to play by Queen Calanthe personally.”

Marx sputtered, unable to find words as Geralt stepped around him with Roach, Yennefer smirking at the speechless bard and Ciri offering a grin with far too many teeth to be a real smile of her own.

In the inn that night, Yennefer couldn’t help but comment.

“Defending your bard’s honor? How cute, Geralt.”

“He doesn’t need me to defend his honor, he’s plenty capable of doing that himself,” Geralt replied with a shrug as he took a drink of ale. “But it seems unfair to insult someone who isn’t around to speak for themselves.”

“That’s so _cute_ ,” Ciri squealed, leaning on the table. “You _do_ like him.”

“Hmm,” Geralt busied himself with another drink as she and Yennefer grinned at each other.

==

Da Vinci | Bright Shadow

They continued along the coast, passing through villages as they went, sometimes taking care of monsters, sometimes only to spend money. Summer seemed to becoming to a close all too soon and the harvests were beginning as a result. The villages seemed to be more crowded, the taverns more lively as they teemed with workers brought on for the harvest season. They didn’t see the bard they were chasing, but they found the effects of his presence, his name mentioned in passing.

Now that they knew of his nature it was easier to spot where Jaskier’s odd lucky and Destiny’s hand had touched, even if the people themselves hadn’t realized it yet.

“Best harvest we’ve had in years!” One farmer was exclaiming after a day in the fields. “You’ve never seen a yield like it!”

“We didn’t lose a single calf,” they heard in another village. “In all my years we’ve always lost at least one.”

Similar stories were heard throughout the small communities, each one a place that had been visited by the same bard. He had wished them a good harvest on his way out and whatever power over fate he controlled, it had clearly been successful.

Thankfully it only looked like good luck to everyone around them. Still, it was concerning. Someone would figure it out and make the connection. And if that happened…Geralt didn’t want to picture Jaskier in placed of the nameless Force before him. Bled dry in a field and forgotten by the world.

Unfortunately, with the beginning of the harvest season they knew it was only a matter of time before they needed to start making their way back east toward Kaedwen and Kaer Morhen, and yet with Geralt taking so many contracts they were still a good distance from Oxenfurt.

“We’ll get there,” he reassured Ciri as they rode. “We’ll find him.”

“It’s not that,” she said, looking out at the fields and the people sowing crops in them. “It’s just…it’s been a year already. I can’t believe it.”

A year since the fall of Cintra. Since she’d lost Calanthe and Eist. Since she lost everything.

“Time passes,” Yennefer replied, though it was gentle. “It’s as inevitable as the sun rising and setting each day.”

“I know,” Ciri said, “I know that. I just… a whole year. And you’re great, I love you both, but.”

To their surprise and distress fat tears started streaming down her face as a sob escaped her lips. Geralt pulled Roach to a stop and together with Yennefer they brought her down from the horse and bundled her in a hug.

“I miss them. I miss everyone so much. Grandmother and Eist. Mousesack and even…even M-martin! They’re all gone and I-”

She devolved into tears, unable to contain her sorrow any longer.

They waited a long while before she calmed down and they moved off the road to make camp for the night. They were overlooking the North Sea as the sun set, the blazing colors reflecting on the water and making a striking scene. Birds soaring overhead called to the sky. Not headed for warmer climates quite yet, and still singing their songs cheerfully.

Ciri sat near the water’s edge and looked over at the setting sun with her arms wrapped around her knees. They let her sit alone for a while as the pink and orange gave way to indigo and deep blues. They decided she had sat alone long enough and moved to sit on either side of her.

“I’m sorry,” she said as they joined her, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve.

“You’re not on a schedule, Ciri,” Yennefer informed her. “These things take time.”

“And some wounds never fully fade. They scar, they hurt less,” Geralt shook his head. “But they’re still there. You’ll always remember them. Even when it hurts, you’ll _want_ to remember them.”

Yennefer wondered if he was thinking of the other witchers, before the sacking of Kaer Morhen.

“So don’t ever be sorry,” Yennefer picked up again as he trailed off. “Don’t ever be sorry for missing them, for remembering, for loving them. But don’t let it hold you back. Keep moving forward, and keep them in your memories.”

“Time passes,” Geralt said, echoing Yennefer’s words from earlier in the day. “Time passes and we can’t change it. We take every day as it comes.” He offered her a small smile. “And we do so together.”

“Together,” Yennefer echoed, taking one of Ciri’s hands in her own, even as the young girl leaned into Geralt.

“I don’t want to forget them,” she whispered. “I barely remember my mother.”

“You won’t,” Yennefer insisted. “You keep remembering them, you live _for_ them, and you won’t ever forget them.”

“Grandmother. Eist,” She looked out over the water. “Mousesack. Everyone. I miss you, but I won’t forget you. I’ll never forget you,” she resolved. “Never.”

Geralt and Yennefer did what they could to help. Whenever Ciri seemed to get down they’d ask questions about her life before, about Eist and Calanthe, Pavetta and Mousesack and life in Cintra. There were still times when those stories would only lead to more tears, but more and more often the memories were recalled fondly.

A ways down the road it became obvious they were no longer following in Jaskier’s trail. The lucky harvests gave way to failing crops and dusty fields. It was in one particularly quiet village the first words of the lands being cursed reached them.

“If it’s a curse, shouldn’t you look into it?” Ciri asked.

“There’s no hint of Chaos,” Yennefer said with a graceful shrug of her shoulders. “And no signs of any monsters. Sometimes there are just bad seasons. It happens and there is no one and nothing to fault for it.”

“Not a bad season,” a low voice rumbled as the barman moved to their table to refill their ale. With only one other table of patrons he seemed to be the only one working. Perhaps the most curious thing about the man was the yellow flower made of felt pinned to his shirt. “We were fools to try to work this land. Knew it’d been dead for an age, but there was nowhere else to go. We’d hoped after a century it would arable again.”

“Dead for a century?” Yennefer repeated. “I’ve studied enough botany to know that can’t be right.” She glanced at Geralt. “Unless something else _is_ at work.”

“Hmm,” Geralt glanced up at the barman. “What else do you know?”

The man shrugged.

“Not much, witcher. We heard the land had been dead for a century and drove the last inhabitants away after everything failed and the water dried up. Didn’t seem to matter how much it rained, what magic was tried, or anything. Nothing grows. Stories around her tell of a village that used to be up the road from here that sacrificed the wrong maiden and she cursed them with her dying breath. Can’t say I put much stock into it when I heard them, but we’ve been here a year now and still nothing. It’s just dust and dry ground.”

A sacrifice. Just like the Force Vesemir had spoken of.

Geralt refused to picture Jaskier like that.

“Is anything left of that village?” Geralt asked.

The man nodded slowly.

“Some ruins. You follow the road east out of here and you’ll find it. Dark and dusty and dead,” he sighed. “Seems our hope was for naught. We wait any longer and we won’t survive the winter. Last year was bad enough. Still, I feel like there’s a reason for being here, even if I don’t know what it is.”

“Hmm,” the witcher took a drink of his ale but didn’t press further.

“Did you get a bard through here by chance?” Ciri piped up after neither Geralt nor Yennefer said anything further to the barman. He glanced at her with clear surprise.

“We did,” he replied, eyes wide. “Didn’t expect it; we’re not exactly anyone’s first choice. Had the place packed for the first time ever here as he played, not a single open seat. He seemed a nice fellow.”

“His name,” Geralt interrupted. “Did you catch his name?”

“His name?” the man repeated rather dumbly. “Flower or something I think?”

“Dandelion?” Yennefer suggested, one eyebrow raised. She rolled her eyes when the man agreed excitedly.

“That’s the one! Ain’t ever heard of him before and thought he might be fresh out of the Academy over in Oxenfurt, but he sure knew his stuff so I imagine he’s seen a bit of the world. Quite the treat to have him here. Made it feel like there’s hope for this place, you know?”

Geralt hummed. Vesemir had said that Forces often found themselves in the most unlikely of circumstances, but it seemed whatever magic he had could only do so much. Despite their hope, Destiny didn’t appear to want this particular land turned again. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to investigate to be certain. Unlikely as it was, it _could_ just be coincidence. The land could be cursed.

He took another drink of his ale.

“We’ll check it out in the morning. If it is a curse, we’ll see what can be done. If it isn’t,” he shrugged. “You may want to move on.”

“And yet,” the man offered a small smile. “Hope springs eternal.”

==

Prayer Circles | Spring Field

It was a slow morning as they left the inn and headed out on the road towards the ruins of the cursed village. It was nothing of short of eerie with how quiet it was. There was no birdsong in the sky. No leaves for the breeze to rustle. Just twisted, oddly colorless dead trees. Dusty, dry dirt beneath their feet. Even the sky was gray, not a hint of the sun piercing through.

There were signs here and there of human interference. A few trees cut down, though the wood abandoned, rotted and useless. Soil that had been turned, but still barren. Everything aligned with the story they’d gotten in the village.

It was still as the grave and twice as somber.

Ciri’s eyes were tracking back and forth, taking in the sights and looking for _anything_ that might give some insight to the strange land they now found themselves in. She inhaled sharply as they entered the remains of the village.

“There’s nothing left.”

Nothing but the charred out husks of a dozen buildings, the stone foundations burned pitch black and crumbling.

“They never said anything about a fire…” Yennefer said stepping away from the road and toward the ruins.

“These aren’t burn marks,” Geralt remarked, stepping closer, his head tilting as he inspected the remains himself. “They’ve fallen to ruin with age.”

Ciri wandered over to them, joining their conversation.

“But that would take-”

“Far more than a century,” Geralt confirmed, still walking through the ruins, steel sword in hand though there were no signs of anything living (or unliving for that matter) nearby. “Just like Vesemir said.”

“What are you saying, Geralt?”

The witcher sighed.

“Vesemir said that one of the reasons people like Jaskier, a Force of Destiny, are so rare is that people try to manipulate them. And sometimes, they misunderstand their power. He spoke of one who sought to help the farms she came from and instead was offered as a sacrifice because the people didn’t understand it was her luck helping them, not her blood.”

He knelt and sifted the dry, black dirt beneath his feet, frowning as he continued.

“He said Destiny retaliated. The land died and a terrible famine swept the land the following season.”

“The Great Famine?” Yennefer questioned him, to which he nodded. “We were told of it at Aretuza. Land so far dead that even magic couldn’t restore it.”

Ciri was looking away from them as he spoke, further east out of the ruined village, where a hill of black dirt rose up. She was frowning, but her expression was contemplative.

Yennefer noticed it first when she failed to comment and turned toward the young girl.

“Ciri?”

“There are footsteps through the village,” she replied, pointing at where she was looking. “Fresh ones.”

Geralt stepped away from the ruined building to follow her gaze and sure enough noticed the single set of tracks through the village. He approached carefully and crouched down, Ciri ducking besides him to get a closer look.

“Human?” She asked, and he nodded.

“Or elven. Human-shaped at least. Likely a man, from the size and gait.”

“Gait?”

“The way they walk,” Yennefer offered. “Not always, but often. Different bone structure and the like.”

“Hmm,” Ciri sounded so much like Geralt that Yennefer fought the urge to laugh.

“They didn’t just pass through,” Geralt said as he stood, following the tracks but being careful not to cross them or cover them up. “They were looking around, and came over here…”

He followed the tracks to a low wall of stone, still sturdy and not yet crumbling despite the clear age of it. The dirt on top of the wall had been disturbed, smeared handprints visible.

“He climbed up to sit here. Using one hand for balance.”

“Like they were holding something in their other hand?” Yennefer asked drolly and Geralt frowned at her. “Like a certain lute player we know?”

“That doesn’t seem like a coincidence?”

“Before I knew he was some sort of Destiny incarnate? Yes. But now? No,” she replied very matter-of-fact. “Didn’t Vesemir say he’d be involved in things that seemed like crazy coincidences?”

“Hmm.” They followed the tracks from the wall where they’d stopped and out past the edge of the remains of the village and up the hill barren hill of dark dirt.

It was then that the smell of dust on the wind finally gave way to something else. Something clean, sweet, and floral. A soothing sound on the far side of the hill reached his ears and Geralt stopped in his tracks.

“That can’t be right.”

“What is it?” Yennefer asked, turning to him, even as Ciri darted ahead.

“I hear water. Like a spring.”

Yennefer frowned. She looked at him, down at the tracks and up the hill to where Ciri had just reached the top. The young girl turned toward them, looking stunned and excited at the same time.

“I think you need to come see this.”

Geralt broke into a jog to catch up, Yennefer right beside him and they both crested to the top to see what Ciri was looking at.

Just below the top of the hill, babbling down the side and growing stronger as it went was a small spring that turned into a little creek of crystal clear water. On either side new growth of bright green grass was beginning to spread out away from it, pushing out of the dark, dry ground. Closest to the water the green was dotted with little flowers in orange, violet, and blue, but further down was a swath of yellow. Buttercups.

In the patch of yellow flowers was a black stone, with no marks upon it, but deliberately placed. The grass and flowers in front of it slightly bent and flattened as though someone had knelt there for a while.

“I’m starting to think,” Yennefer began, taking in the sight. “That Vesemir may have been onto something with this Force business.”

“Do you think he knew?” Geralt asked, looking at the black stone. There was a strange aura around it. Like a palpable feeling of sorrow. Without a doubt in his mind the witcher knew this was the spot where the Force had been sacrificed so long ago. “Jaskier. Do you think he knew?”

Yennefer shook her head, her dark, wavy hair swaying the motion.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Do you hear that?” Ciri asked turning toward them, her brow furrowed. “The stream. It’s…odd. It sounds almost as though it’s singing.”

Yennefer and Geralt both paused to listen and sure enough there was a distinct rhythm to the water flowing down the hillside. A melody, bubbling and cheerful, growing in intensity as the stream picked up speed further along.

“It does,” Yennefer agreed, her eyebrows lifting in surprise.

Geralt looked at the stream and shifted, a frown marring his features.

“Fuck,” he finally said, turning away from the stream and moving back up the hill. Yennefer and Ciri hurried to follow.

“Geralt,” Yen called after him. “What was that about? Geralt!”

He spun on his heel to face them as they arrived back at the ruins of the town.

“A spring, new growth, that’s one thing. A _singing_ spring? Someone is going to notice. If Jaskier isn’t more careful, he’ll- someone will-” Geralt couldn’t finish his thought. Couldn’t _bear_ the thought of Jaskier being a sacrifice somewhere by someone thinking it would bring them good fortune. “We need to find him, _now_.”

Yennefer nodded, and Ciri’s face was surprisingly solemn as she too nodded in agreement.

The ruins were just as quiet when they returned as when they left it behind, the dark, dusty hill hiding the secret from view for now. They followed the road back to the newly built village and headed back toward the inn.

The same barman from before was in the near-empty tavern when they returned and he looked up at them in surprise.

“Back so soon? Did you sort out the curse?”

Yennefer glanced at Geralt whose mouth was a thin line. There would be no hiding what was there. She took the initiative to speak for them.

“We did. The land _was_ cursed, by something very powerful. A grave crime was once committed that has now been forgiven. But,” she leaned forward, the air around her crackling with Chaos. The barman shifted away from her, audibly swallowing in fear. “you must _never_ repeat the original sin. Spill no blood. Take no lives. The land _will_ flourish if you take care of it.”

The man’s eyes were wide and he looked over the three of them.

“Truly? The land is…truly?”

Yennefer snorted.

“Go see for yourself. Beyond the village ruins you’ll find a new spring and new growth. It won’t be easy and it will take time, but the land will heal. That is so long as you _do not spill any innocent blood_.”

The barman nodded, excitement and fear both visible on his countenance and he scrambled back to the bar.

“This is- this is _wonderful_. There are good people, _hard-working_ people. To have a place to call our own, why! It’s more than we could have hoped for. Here, we’ve been saving this and it’s not much, but take it. _Please_.”

He shoved a fat sack of coins into Yennefer’s hands and she frowned. It was more than they would have expected and more than the village could likely afford if they wanted to see the winter through to the following season.

Geralt shook his head and echoed Yennefer’s words instead.

“We won’t take your coin. Make good on your promise. Spill no blood, take care of the land. That’s all we ask.”

The man looked amongst them again, stunned, even as he accepted the coin purse back and nodded.

“I, of course. Of course, we will. Thank you. _Thank you_. Truly.”

Geralt nodded once but said nothing else before moving to their room to gather their supplies before departing.

They didn’t linger and so didn’t notice the cloaked figure in deep gray and silver push her hood back away from her face as she stepped out around a corner and watched them go.

“New life in the dead lands. How peculiar,” she smiled. “And how fortunate.”

==

Ritual Passion | Flames

Fringilla strode through the gates of the palace, unhindered by the guards who cowed away from her stern visage. They knew the strength of her magic, the sacrifices she was willing to make in the name of Nilfgaard, and knew her to be a favorite of the Emperor. Few, if any, would ever dare stand in her way. One such figure did though, turning a corner and standing unmoving in the hall as she approached.

“Cahir,” she greeted evenly.

“Fringilla. What news of the Butcher and Princess?”

“Later, I have more important news for the White Flame.”

“There is _nothing_ more important than getting Princess Cirilla to where she belongs, _here_ , with Nilfgaard and Emperor Emhyr.”

Fringilla smiled in a placating manner.

“Believe me, Cahir. I am well aware. But this is something you nor I nor the Emperor can afford to ignore.”

Cahir stared at her for a long moment before nodding and stepping back, allowing her to continue to the receiving room where the Emperor waited. She strode forward, the double doors at the end of the hallway opened for her without hesitation, her strong stride carrying her through the doors and her silvery gray cloak and skirts billowing about. She cut an impressive figure as she entered and approached.

“Your Majesty,” she bowed to the man sitting on the raised dais, but frowned momentarily at the man standing just beside him.

The standing man smirked at her.

“Vilgefortz of Roggeveen,” she greeted him coolly.

“Fringilla Vigo,” he replied evenly, still smirking at her.

“You have news, Fringilla?” Emhyr asked, unbothered by their exchange.

“Yes, your Majesty,” but hesitated, glancing at Vilgefortz again, who only continued to gaze evenly back, that odd, slightly frightening smile on his face.

“Vilgefortz is with me, speak freely, Fringilla.”

She glanced back at Cahir who had followed her in. Though he didn’t look terribly happy about it, he did nod in confirmation of the Emperor’s words.

“I have new information, your Majesty. A new path to take.”

“You were supposed to be finding Cirilla and the witcher, Fringilla, not chasing whatever fancy pleases you,” Emhyr’s tone was dark, a touch of anger and a promise of malice in his words.

“It’s related,” she hurried to explain. “The White Wolf’s bard, it’s been discovered he’s a _Force_.”

Vilgefortz frowned, seemingly unfamiliar with the term, and the Emperor seemed unimpressed as well.

“The bard has been nowhere to found, I fail to see why you delight in this news.”

Fringilla once again glanced back at Vilgefortz, no longer smirking but staring at her with an unwavering, indecipherable gaze. There was something akin to madness in those dark eyes. She moved her own focus back to the Emperor and held it there as she explained.

“He’s been using a false name, _Dandelion_ , and has been spotted near the coast of Cidaris and Temeria. You already know of his connection to the witcher but as Force,” she was breathless as she smiled in her delight and excitement. “Your Majesty, as a Force his luck becomes your own. He can shape Destiny, mold it, all without you needing to a lift a hand. You get him near you and all of your dreams come true. Destiny bends around him, whether he likes it or not.”

“Sounds like someone was fed fairytales and lies during her time at Aretuza,” Vilgefortz drawled, the eerie smile once again on his face.

“The Force is _real_ ,” Fringilla insisted. “The Temerian dead fields,” she hastened to explain as Emhyr once again fixed her with that piercing stare. “are growing again.”

This time, everyone in the room stopped to stare, finally paying attention to her words.

“Those lands have been lost since the Great Famine. No magic, no amount of toil or rain could bring them back,” Vilgefortz insisted, though his expression was awed. Fringilla might even guess it looked _excited_ , but she was resolutely ignoring him to keep her focus on her Emperor.

“And yet,” Fringilla was smiling again. “A song from the Force and new water flows, flowers grow. If that power can make the dead bear life, think of what it could do for you.”

Emhyr looked contemplative, and reached one hand up to rub his chin before he nodded slowly at first, then again more firmly.

“We do not give up the search for Cirilla, she still comes first. And she _will_ be found and brought to Nilfgaard. However… Cahir,” he barked. The darkly armored commander stepped forward at his name and bowed.

“Your Majesty.”

“Increase your efforts to find the bard. He’s to be brought to me _alive_ and unharmed. He’s no good to me dead or dying,” he instructed, glancing at Fringilla who nodded in agreement.

“Of course, your Majesty,” Cahir bowed again, pivoting on his heel and striding out of the room, barking orders as he went. Fringilla waited.

“You’re dismissed, Fringilla,” Emhyr said at last, when she hadn’t yet gone.

She opened her mouth, not sure what she was going to say before she nodded and bowed again. As she left she glanced back once more, Vilgefortz leaning over and whispering in the Emperor’s ear.

It wasn’t her place to question. She served the White Flame. He who had molded her, saved her. She would serve.

Hurrying from the hall where the audience was held she caught up to Cahir just as he finished issuing orders in the grand courtyard of Nilfgaard’s palace.

“He is to be captured _alive_ and you are to do no harm. If you cannot take him safely, you do not take him, do I make myself clear?” The assembled riders murmured their assent. “For the White Flame!” He roared as she approached. The riders roared it back before kicking their horses into a gallop and out of the palace gates.

He looked at her but did not speak until she drew up next to him.

“I have better things to do then waste time chasing a bard, Fringilla.”

“This,” she stressed turning to face him, “is no ordinary bard, Cahir. With his powers, with a _Force_ on our side, everything we’ve been working toward will be within our grasp. All of the White Flame’s plans can be realized at last, the Continent united under his banner.”

“Our Emperor’s plans, or Vilgefortz’s?” Cahir muttered darkly, glancing back at the palace proper and the windows of the room they’d spoken in.

Fringilla frowned and looked the same way.

“A curious development,” she agreed, her voice pitched low. “Tell me, when did this happen?”

“Apparently it’s a long standing arrangement, one we were not to be aware of.”

Fringilla turned back to him sharply.

“But he led the mages against at Sodden to stop our crossing of the Yaruga. He crossed steel with you personally.”

“I am well aware,” Cahir agreed. “But the Emperor has decreed his word as good as his own.”

“The White Flame has not led us astray, Cahir. We must trust him, as we always have.”

“I have every trust in the Emperor, Fringilla. I live to serve the White Flame,” he strode away before she could respond, leaving her standing in the courtyard alone. Movement in the corner of her eye had her turning her head and she looked up to see Vilgefortz gazing at her through the window.

She raised her chin and met his gaze for a long moment. Head still held high, she spun on her heel swiftly and strode away. She didn’t look back towards the window.

Vilgefortz turned back to the Emperor who was reclined on the throne, drumming his fingers against the arm of it.

“This Force. Are they real?”

Vilgefortz shrugged.

“There _are_ stories. I can’t deny the possibility that they could exist, but it’s hard to prove, and even harder to control. Their power over Destiny is not well understood, your Majesty. It bends around them, but _how_ is never really made clear.” He shrugged before continuing. “Still, she’s not wrong. With a Force at your side, Destiny is that much closer.”

Emhyr hummed, then raised a hand.

“You may go.”

“Of course, your Majesty.”

Vilgefortz bowed and departed the room, a smile spreading on his face as he went.

Emhyr had always been so easy to persuade, and now Fringilla had handed him the greatest prize of all. A living Force.

The Continent would bow to Nilfgaard. Nilfgaard would bow to their White Flame, and Vilgefortz…

Vilgefortz would stoke that flame. Just before he snuffed it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In addition to Netflix's map of The Continent, I mostly reference [this one](https://i.redd.it/kja41g00w6v21.jpg) for my locations.
> 
> Fuck if I know how long it takes to get anywhere around the Continent.
> 
> Making up my own historical bullshit for the sake of the story is not my favorite, but needs must. +shrugs+


	3. PART THREE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of these Tetris levels turned scenes fought me hard. Guess which one here. Go on, guess.

Deserted | Lunar Discourse

They didn’t make it to Oxenfurt. A series of contracts that took them further east than planned following the strange events in the dead lands of Temeria took longer than they had planned, and it forced them to begin making their way back to Kaedwen. They had to. They had to be certain they’d reach Kaer Morhen before the winter snows were upon them. The roads felt even quieter and emptier than they had coming down the mountain in the spring, as though the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for something.

They rode in silence. Not because the Path had made for a rough season, but rather disappointment that they were no closer to finding Jaskier than they had been in the spring. They had lost his trail, no hint of a bard named Dandelion nor Jaskier.

It was simultaneously reassuring and terrifying. If they couldn’t find his trail, hopefully Nilfgaard couldn’t either. But if Nilfgaard had already found him…

Geralt didn’t even want to imagine that possibility.

They rode quietly, steadily along. Day after day, night after night. They pressed as far as they could each day, not stopping until the moon and stars were bright overhead. There was a chill in the air as winter drew ever nearer. The trail to Kaer Morhen would be enough of a challenge as it was, worse still if they couldn’t make it before the first snows.

They had moved well off the road for the night, the trees were thin and the open field offered little in the way of hiding places. The open views of the stars in the sky were spectacular though; they were bright and shining and seemingly infinite in number out here. Ciri had crept away from the fire after it had burned down to sit and look up at them. She was unsurprised when Geralt joined her quietly.

“Here, you must be cold,” he draped a blanket around her shoulders and she smiled up at him, pulling it in close. He sat down beside her and looked up. “Not a bad view.”

“I never saw the stars like this in Cintra. There are so many more than I realized,” she said, still looking up. “I remember some of the constellations though. That one, there,” she pointed and Geralt followed the line of her hand. “The Queen, sitting on her throne.”

“Hmm,” Geralt tilted his head. “The Zerrikanian’s call that one the Camel.”

“Really?” Ciri asked, looking at him. At his nod she turned back to the sky and tilted her head. “I don’t see it,” she admitted, her tone slightly glum.

“It takes practice. You’ve only ever seen it as the Queen before.”

“Hmm,” she hummed, glancing at him with mischief in her eyes. “Are there other constellations that are different?”

“Nearly all of them,” Geralt said, looking across the stars. “I don’t know them all though. Jaskier did. He loved to tell the stories written up there.”

“I’m sorry,” she said after a brief moment of quiet between them.

“Whatever for?”

“That we didn’t find your friend,” she replied, looking at him. His eyes gleamed despite the darkness. “I hope he’s okay.”

“He is,” Geralt replied simply, looking back up at the stars. “Jaskier’s always finding himself getting into trouble. And out of it just as easily.”

“But it’s _different_ now,” Ciri protested. “Nilfgaard is marching, and Jaskier is…”

“Jaskier is Jaskier. The same as he’s always been. Knowing what he is doesn’t change that. It doesn’t change him.”

She sighed before tilting her head back to the stars.

“What are they? The stars?”

“Most people think they’re suns, far away from here.”

“Suns?”

“Others,” Geralt continued, “say they represent the souls of those who have gone before us.” He smiled down at her. “Jaskier once said they were fireflies that flew too high and got stuck up there.”

She giggled.

“I thought you said he went to Oxenfurt?” She protested. “Surely he’d know better.”

He chuckled, low and warm.

“He did, but he loved a good story as much as he loved to know things. Forever curious.”

“I like learning,” she said, but then made a face. “Most of the time.” She thought about it and revised it even further. “Some of the time. I didn’t much care for etiquette and manners, but Grandmother insisted. Mousesack liked stories too, but he always made them cautionary tales and I got bored of them after a while once I caught on.”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt said suddenly to that. “About Mousesack. He was a good man. I don’t know if…I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner.”

She didn’t look at him, but there was a soft smile on her lips.

“It’s easier now,” she said softly. “Like you said it would be. I try to remember the good times. When I think of them happily, I don’t get sad as often.”

They were quiet a moment, just watching the sky, before she spoke again.

“Do you think he’s lonely?”

“Hmm?”

“Jaskier, I mean. You said you traveled together for years. Do you think he’s lonely without you?”

Geralt was once again quiet for a moment before responding.

“I hope not. Jaskier loves easily, and is easy to love so I’m sure he never finds himself alone. Certainly not for long.”

She hummed again.

“What do you suppose we look like from up there? Like a map?”

Geralt laughed again, looking over at her.

“What?” She asked, her tone somewhat indignant.

“You’re certainly full of questions tonight.”

She flushed and ducked her head.

“Ciri,” he lay a hand on her back, between her shoulder blades. “I mean no ill. You just seem rather talkative tonight.”

“I guess I’ve just been thinking. It’s been so quiet and empty the last few days after so many contracts and trying to find Jaskier. I just wondered what else we could have done.”

“We’ve done all we can,” Geralt lamented. “The Path still comes first. It’ll all work out, Ciri.”

She leaned into him and he wrapped an arm around her. She fell asleep shortly after and he carried her back to her bedroll.

They passed the remaining days to Kaer Morhen in higher spirits after that night. Lively discussions and debate along the roads. About anything and everything Ciri brought up. Sometimes the topics were more useful, such as weapon handling and fighting techniques or botany and the effects of different herbs found in the wild. Sometimes they were ridiculous, like making up new constellations for the stars in the sky and coming up with extravagant backstories for them.

“That one there,” Ciri pointed, what normally was the Dove, “is the Giant’s Knife. It was stolen from his kitchen by the brave warrior, Geralt.”

Yennefer snorted in laughter at that declaration.

“And that one there,” Yennefer pointed to another group of stars. “It’s a group of Moon Jellyfish. They’re escaping the Giant’s kitchen, having been set free by the brave warrior, Geralt.”

She sent him a teasing grin even as Ciri looked at him expectantly.

“It’s your turn, Geralt,” the girl insisted.

“Hmm.”

“Come now, Geralt. What new constellation is in the sky tonight?” Yennefer insisted.

Geralt grunted, his eyes scanning the stars before raising a hand to point.

“There. The Lute.” Yennefer snorted but Geralt continued quickly. “Played by the bard who told the story of the brave warrior who defeated the Giant.”

Ciri laughed and clapped in delight.

“He will, you know,” Yennefer commented before taking a drink from a water skin.

“He will, what?” Geralt asked glancing back at her.

“He’ll make a song of it. And he’ll sing it. And everyone across the continent will know how you saved the jellyfish from the giant.”

“You saved the what from the what?” A new voice asked and Geralt sprung to his feet, hand on his steel sword before he relaxed.

“Lambert,” he moved to embrace the other witcher and clap him heartily on the back.

Lambert grinned and looked about their campsite, before his expression fell slightly.

“No luck then?”

Geralt’s good cheer fell as well.

“No. We caught his trail near Cidaris for a while, but lost it again in Redania.”

“I’m sorry,” Lambert said. “There was no sign of Jaskier to the south either. Not in Aedirn nor Rivia.”

“Ah, fuck,” Geralt cursed, turning his head to the side.

“Geralt?”

“We should have gotten word to you – he’s been going by Dandelion.”

Lambert’s eyes went comically wide before he a string of curses escaped him. The remains of the lighthearted mood in the camp turned abruptly.

“Lambert?” Geralt asked.

Lambert had the heel of his hand pressed against his forehead.

“I met a Dandelion in Beauclaire. He didn’t stay long, but. Fuck. Fuck! I’m sorry, I should have realized. They paid me extra, right when I was running low on coin. Free room and meals on top of that. When have you ever heard of that happening before?”

Geralt was about to retort when he realized it _had_ happened before. Whenever coin was getting light he’d have a lucrative contract the same time Jaskier would have a remarkably successful performance.

“It’s not as uncommon as you might think,” Geralt muttered.

Lambert stared at him incredulously for a long moment before realization dawned on his face.

“Right. I suppose that would be the Force at work. Uncanny luck.”

“Speaking of luck,” Geralt shifted the conversation away from Jaskier. “How did you find us?”

“Wasn’t planning to, honestly,” Lambert shrugged. “Heard a witcher had taken a contract to the village south of here, and I figured it was either you or Eskel heading north. You cover your tracks well, don’t look so concerned.”

“Hmm,” Geralt sat back down near the fire, Lambert gracelessly sprawling out beside him after retrieving his nameless horse and tethering it to a tree nearby. From that moment onward their traveling party of three became four until they made camp at the base of the trail leading to Kaer Morhen. That was when a gray stallion arrived carrying a familiar rider who would make their number five.

“Eskel?” Geralt asked as the other witcher rode into the camp. “This is late for you.”

Eskel shrugged as he dismounted.

“Heard a rumor about your bard, but it ended up being a ghost chase. Literally.”

“Didn’t you take Kovir and Poviss?” Lambert asked.

“Mmhmm,” Eskel hummed in agreement while untacking the horse. “Busier than usual too up that direction. I’m not sure I’ve ever had so many contracts in my life, and I was paid reasonably for all of them.”

Geralt grunted.

“Did you know your bard is rather clever? I found out he’s been using an assumed name. Never caught up to him though.”

“Wait, you knew he was going by Dandelion?” Lambert demanded.

“What? No, he’s been going by Buttercup.”

Yennefer looked between the two witchers staring at each other in confusion before turning to Geralt.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“That’s what I wanna know,” Lambert groused.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Geralt commented. “Where in Kovir and Poviss, Eskel?”

“Lan Exeter,” Eskel said. “Ran into a friend of his, another bard. Priscilla?”

“How could someone get so far in a single season?” Ciri asked looking around the group. “We barely made it to Cidaris and back this year.”

“Does someone want to fill me in?” Eskel asked, his face scrunched in confusion. The gesture pulled at his scars and me him look far more fierce than he usually did.

“We caught Jaskier’s trail in Temeria, followed him to Kerack and Cidaris before losing it again in Redania. Lambert actually ran into him in Beauclair in Toussaint, but didn’t realize it.”

Eskel snorted and looked over at Lambert.

”Seriously?”

“Hey! It’s not my fault Geralt has never thought to introduce us to his boyfriend of two decades.”

“He. Is. Not. My. Boyfriend,” Geralt ground out.

“He kind of is,” Yennefer and Ciri spoke at the same time before glancing at each other.

“Clever,” Eskel remarked, ignoring the banter. “Different names, different places. If all of us had difficulty following him I’m fairly confident Nilfgaard would too.”

“He may be employing a mage,” Yennefer added thoughtfully. “Wander an area for a while, be seen, then have them make a portal to another spot and do it all again. It _is_ rather clever,” she added begrudgingly.

“He might not,” Eskel said with a shrug. “It wouldn’t be easy but a seasoned traveler with a plan could do it.”

“Hmm,” Geralt didn’t add to the conversation. He was thinking instead of days passed on the road with Roach and Jaskier and how far they had gone together. If there was anyone who could pull off such a feat especially with Destiny on their side, it was Jaskier.

==

Dolphin Surf | You and I

Winter at Kaer Morhen was different that year. Odd even. Not somber necessarily, but quieter for certain. More subdued. There was an aura of disappointment all around after they had all gotten close to finding the Force, close to finding _Jaskier_ , and missing him.

Normally there was joy around the keep throughout the winter season as they reunited after another year on the Path, but this time the overcast gray skies, short days, and general disheartenment around made joy hard to find.

Even training with Ciri and watching her as she mastered new skills couldn’t bring them out of the rut they had found themselves in. Even Vesemir had been oddly resigned, only nodding as they recounted their season.

“Unfortunate, but not entirely unexpected. If he’s evading Nilfgaard it’s likely affecting all who are seeking him.”

“You mean we couldn’t find him because of his weird Force-ness?” Lambert asked. “And you couldn’t have warned us about that before we spent all summer looking for him?”

“I wasn’t aware he was hiding from Nilfgaard before you departed in the spring,” Vesemir replied shaking his head. “But you all knew how his ability seems like uncanny luck. How else would Lambert have run into him and not realized it?”

Lambert had grumbled at that, but accepted it with considerably more grace than he often did.

The days passed, the snow fell, and there was a general despondency around the keep. It was nearing Midwinter when the dreams started.

Geralt knew when it was _the_ dream, because it always started the same way. Swimming through dark water beneath the waves, but without any fear or apprehension. The water was dark yes, but clear. Not the murk of a swamp, or kicked up by monsters moving about. In fact, there was no hint of monster or beast nearby. This wasn’t a swim to hunt, this was a swim for no reason other than joy.

Movement in the corner of his eye caused him to turn his head and suddenly a smooth gray body was swimming beside him, a dolphin matching him for speed. A merry race between the two of them.

Geralt had no idea why he felt no need to breathe beneath the waves.

The race seemed to pick-up and with a great leap he and the dolphin both broke the surface to cloudless skies, bright blue in the sunlight and a warm summer breeze on his face. Another dolphin leapt nearby, laughing, followed by another and yet another still.

They swam, laughing and racing until he woke with a start to a dark room, slightly cool with the fire burning low.

He threw back the blankets and furs and tossed Igni toward the hearth to relight the fire.

The dream was rapidly fading from memory, though the sound of sweet laughter and a cheerful melody echoed in his mind even as he woke.

Somehow the day seemed a little brighter for it.

It wasn’t until a few weeks later he when went down to the stables to see to Roach that the dreams truly became strange. He was unsurprised to find Ciri already there, humming as she brushed Aster down the way she’d been taught. She looked up as he approached and smiled at him; he returned the smile with a nod as he gathered the brushes and tools necessary to care for Roach. He’d just begun brushing the mare down when he stopped, listening to the song Ciri had been humming, though it was less of a song and more of a tune that rose and fell before repeating.

And yet, it was a tune he knew.

He’d been catching himself humming it for days now.

“Ciri,” he said suddenly into the quiet, the humming cutting off as he did. “Where did you hear that song?”

She looked at him across the stables, her green eyes wide and her brow furrowed in confusion as she considered the question.

“I’m not entirely certain?” She admitted. “I keep having kind of a strange dream. I’m swimming in the sea with dolphins, and there are gulls flying overhead. And that’s all it is, but when I wake up I keep hearing laughter and that tune.”

“Dolphins,” Geralt repeated. “Swimming.”

She shrugged.

“Grandfather was from Skellige, so was Mousesack. I spent quite a lot of time out on the islands, before.”

“No, it’s not that. I’ve been having a similar dream. Swimming under a clear summer sky.”

Ciri’s brow furrowed further.

“And… and the tune?”

“I’ve heard the same one.”

She was quiet for a long moment.

“There’s not a chance it’s just a song we’ve both heard before, is it?”

He grimaced in response.

“I wish I could say yes, but that doesn’t seem likely with everything go on, does it? It seems too great a coincidence.”

“What if it’s not a coincidence?” Ciri asked, even as she began putting away the brushes she’d been using. “Didn’t Vesemir say Jaskier’s power seemed to be just that?”

“He’s not here, Ciri,” Geralt replied, though the thought had crossed his mind. “And Vesemir also said his ability affected those around him.”

“I also,” a new voice interrupted. “said they’re very rare. There’s a lot about how a Force’s power works that we don’t understand.”

“Vesemir,” Geralts voice was a growl. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to know that we ought to sit down and talk about these dreams everyone is having.”

“Everyone?” Ciri echoed, looking toward the older witcher.

“Indeed. I myself woke from a similar dream several nights this week, and just a few days ago Eskel came and confided that he’d been having his own strange recurring dreams.”

Geralt closed his eyes and breathed out careful.

“And the dreams themselves. The same as ours?”

“Swimming through clear water on a summer day? Laughter and music fading as I wake? Yes,” Vesemir said simply. “And perhaps most interesting for me is that I haven’t been as far as the coast in some time. Decades even. Yet I can hear the roll of the waves on the water, the cry of the gulls in the air. I can smell the sea-spray and feel the water on my skin.”

“You think it’s Jaskier too,” Geralt realized.

“Geralt,” Ciri called quietly. “You know something.”

“Hmm.”

“None of that boy, she’s right. You have that look on your face.”

There was a grunt in response.

“ _Geralt_ ,” Ciri’s voice wasn’t a whine, but the exasperated tone was a near thing. When he glanced up Vesemir was fixing him with a _look_. He sighed and tossed the brush he’d been holding into a nearby bucket.

“The last time Jaskier and I were together, in Caingorn, he had talked about going to the coast,” he said at last. “And just last year just before we arrived here we stopped at an inn where a bard was playing, do you remember Ciri?”

“He played one of Jaskier’s songs!” She said, pulling the memory forward. “And there was something else about it.”

“All of us, you, me, and Yennefer, all inexplicably wanted to go to the coast, to the sea.”

“The song, the one in our dreams?” Vesemir asked, his voice stern.

“No,” Ciri answered him. “It was different than this tune. I don’t… I don’t think I’ve ever heard this tune before I started dreaming about it.”

“Come inside you two, we should speak on this.”

The older witcher left them to finish cleaning up their brushes and tools before they followed him in to the great hall. Lambert and Eskel were already waiting, as was Yenenfer, looking annoyed to be there.

“Okay, old man. You’ve brought us all together. Shall we sit in a circle and braid each other’s hair?” She sniped.

Lambert snorted and Eskel sighed, turning away. Vesemir fixed her with a gaze and frowned.

“Careful, witch.”

She scoffed but said nothing more as he moved toward them then looked at each of them individually, his gaze lingering on Geralt.

“It has come to my attention, that all of us have been dreaming.”

“That’s usually what happens when people sleep at night, Vesemir,” Lambert drawled as he folded his arms across his chest.

“Perhaps. But I don’t believe people usually share the same dream.”

Lambert’s eyes snapped to him fully, even as Yennefer subtly straightened. Eskel turned back toward him.

“What’s going on, Vesemir?”

The old witcher moved to the hearth, resting a hand near the mantle and looking into the flame.

“I believe this is the power of the Force at work, though as to how, I cannot say,” he turned around from the fire, looking around them once more. “The past few weeks I’ve had odd dreams of swimming in dark waters, joined by a laughing dolphin.”

“It races alongside you for a while,” Eskel cut in, taking over. “Before you break the surface together.”

“It’s daytime,” Ciri adds, and Eskel shoots her a pained look as she picks up easily what happens next. “Above the water, it’s a perfect summer day. The air warm, the sky bright and clear. The dolphin laughs.”

“Another joins,” Lambert grunts. “And another. Jumping. Laughing.”

“There’s a song,” Yennefer interrupts. “No, more…a melody? It’s a tune. Ambient, like it’s the waves and the birds, but it’s _there_.”

“And that’s when I wake up,” Geralt finishes as they all look amongst each other. “That melody stuck in my head. Laughter ringing. And I feel…”

“ _Happy_.”

It’s not clear who says it, or if they all said it, but the strange dreams had clearly affected all of them. Despite their strange nature, they had somehow managed to lift their spirits through the long, dark winter nights.

“You think it’s Geralt’s boyfriend? The Force?”

“For the last time,” Geralt snarled.

“I _think_ ,” Vesemir spoke over him loudly. “That it’s certainly a possibility. One we shouldn’t ignore.”

Geralt huffed, even as he glared at Lambert, a promise of pain in his golden stare even as the younger witcher grinned back cheekily.

“So what do we do?” Eskel asked quietly, clearly thrown by the shared dream.

“What can we do?” Vesemir asked. “It does us no harm, even seems to be trying to cheer us up some. You can’t deny you’ve all been particularly brooding this year.” There were some half-hearted sputtering protests at that. “In the spring, hold onto that joy. He’s out there yet, and if he’s sending us all dreams of laughter there is a good chance his winter is a good one. Or safe at the very least.”

“Same plan as last year? Split up and hope we run into him?” Lambert asked, sprawling back across the chair he was in.

“No,” Vesemir shook his head. “This spring, split up with intent to seek him out.”

“I thought the Path came first?” Eskel asked, a frown pulling the scars on his face down and causing the expression to look more like a scowl.

“That was before I realized whatever power he has works beyond mere proximity. He has to be found and kept safe. He has to know what he is.”

Eskel nodded and turned to Geralt.

“Where are you headed? Back to Lettenhove?”

“Oxenfurt,” Geralt replied immediately, easily. “We’ll start in Oxenfurt.”

“Since I ran into him in Beauclair I’ll start there, seems as good of lead as any.”

“I’ll head back up Lan Exeter, see if I can find that friend of his again. If nothing else, maybe we can rule out a few places,” Eskel added.

“I’ll circle Kaedwen and the eastern part of Redania again, cut back through the Buina Pass. If you do find him, come back immediately before you send word.”

They were in agreement. Come spring, they would find Jaskier.

They had to.

==

Downtown Jazz | City Lights

Kaer Morhen was almost unnaturally quiet the day they departed. Usually the spring was a trickle of departures; Lambert almost always the first to leave as soon as the trail was clear enough. Geralt and Eskel would trade off who left next, depending on the weather and if there was work to be done around the keep right away in the spring. If there was, Eskel usually lingered to help Vesemir before setting out. This year though the gates were closed behind them as they all rode out together, and they spent one last night as a group camped at the foot of the trail before going their separate ways.

Rather than the meandering they had all done the previous year, taking contracts and going out of their way whenever necessary, they made a straight shot to Oxenfurt. They pushed hard to cross Kaedwen and Redania to the point that they arrived in the Academy city just as the winter term ended, the air still chilled by the slowly retreating winter weather.

The bite in the air didn’t stop the hustle and bustle of the city from being as loud and lively as ever. Geralt had been through numerous times; whenever they were anywhere near Jaskier had practically demanded it. The witcher never had reason to complain as it always meant hearty meals, good ale, and a comfortable bed for at least a night, if not two or three.

There was disappointment, but also resignation as they were informed by one of Jaskier’s friends that the bard had not, in fact, wintered in the city.

“Jaskier? No, he came through last fall, gave the dean his apologies and left straight practically away again, barely stayed a week. Pris and I had to practically bully him into going out for just one night and drinking with us,” Shani, an Oxenfurt trained medic who knew Jaskier, had been the one to inform them. “I recall he mentioned he was taking a posting at court?”

“Hmm,” Geralt frowned. Jaskier enjoyed playing at court on occasion, boasted about it even, but had often lamented being attached to one for any extended amount of time.

_“It’s a gilded cage, to be sure,” he’d said after meeting back up upon returning from one such soiree. “But still a cage. Besides, I’d miss out on all the fun with you and yikes,” he dodged a particularly deep mud puddle. “And we can’t have that can we?”_

“Where can we find this Pris?” Pris had to be another bard Jaskier spoke fondly of, Priscilla. The one Eskel had met in Lan Exeter.

“Priscilla? Novigrad is where she usually makes her name, if she’s still there that is. She usually takes a few weeks to tour each year and play around. Ask for Callonetta, you can’t miss her if she’s there.”

Despite the lack of a lead in the city, both Ciri and Yennefer seemed to delight at being in a city larger than the usual one-horse villages they passed through and their watered down ale and stale meals.

For Geralt, it was just loud. Academics debating in every tavern, musicians on every corner, and full of people scurrying about their noisy, daily lives. Night was hardly any better as the torches and lanterns were lit and the debate, the music, the _noise_ , merely continued well past the setting of the sun.

And yet despite the loudness, and the noise, and the crowds, it reminded him so much _Jaskier_ that he couldn’t find himself to be annoyed by it. He even found himself smirking at a fresh-faced bardling playing a ridiculous tune while he trailed behind Yennefer and Ciri down another street-turned-market.

Giant rats and giant bats. As if. It was almost as bad as Jaskier’s made-up horrors of pikes and drakes those years ago in Posada.

The young bard caught his eye and the smirk on his face and fumbled, a discordant note ringing out. The patrons milling about who had been largely ignoring the performer until that point now turned with frowns and jeering.

Honestly, Geralt felt a little bad about it. Then again, Jaskier’s terrible make-believe song had ended with free food and an adventure with a witcher, so who knew what would come next for the bardling?

Geralt continued following the pair of women down winding roads until a stall caught his eye. How could it not seeing as it was decorated in bright, cheery yellow? The eye-catching color had little to do with the more subdued wares being sold from it, a collection of leather-bound journals, ink, and writing instruments. All finely made, but how curious to use chains of dandelions to decorate and draw people in.

Still, the journals were the same kind Jaskier kept on his person for notes on the world around him and the moment inspiration struck with words and tune no matter when or where. While many of the journal covers were fairly simple, others had been tooled with letters, words, and pictures on them. Geralt idly flipped through them. A bird feather, a snowflake, an arrow in flight, and a caravan were among the odd collection of embossed images, but it wasn’t until he reached the back of the display that one caught his attention. A single word, in the lower corner, with elegant, scrolling letters coiling about.

_Connected_

It shouldn’t have meant anything, except that song from years ago was suddenly ringing in his ears again.

_I’m yours forever  
There is no end in sight for us  
Nothing could measure  
The kind of strength inside our hearts  
It’s all connected  
We’re all together in this love  
Don’t you forget it  
We’re all connected in this love_

“I don’t know what I was thinking with that one,” the man behind the booth laughed. “I just started working and that was the result.”

“You do fine work,” Geralt said, looking over the assortment.

“That’s mighty kind of ye,” the artisan said.

Geralt still held the journal in his hand.

“How much for this one?” He asked looking up.

The man’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“Truly? I didn’t think anyone would want it.”

“Hmm.”

The man named a ridiculously low number, but Geralt didn’t argue, merely handed over the coin and tucked the notebook away.

The noise of Oxenfurt felt like it had faded somehow. Geralt could only hear the melody of that song again.

_Beyond the storms and the seas  
The sun and the breeze  
The stars in the galaxy_

He caught up to Ciri and Yennefer before they realized he’d fallen behind as they prepared to leave Oxenfurt for Novigrad.

 _Beyond the time that we take_  
The days that we make  
I’m always gonna be with you.

==

Spirited Canyon | New Beginnings

Geralt knew it was a dream.

It had to be, there was nothing else it could possibly be. They’d made camp on the road between Oxenfurt and Novigrad and while Cirilla and Yennefer had laid out bedrolls for the night, Geralt had settled on his knees to meditate there in the forest, surrounded by the quiet sounds of the trees and life that called them home and the smell of the green earth.

And then the sudden sound of a loud, echoing, howling wind and the smell of sand pulled him out of his meditation and he opened his eyes to an impossible sight.

It was still dark, light barely visible overhead through the narrow openings of the smooth canyon walls. It was a far cry from the forest they’d been traversing during the day.

Another gust of wind through the canyon brought with it the sound of a horse snorting and the beat of a hand drum, not unlike the ones played in Lettenhove for White Night the previous year. Geralt sighed, uncertain of why the sound brought disappointment, before moving through the dark canyon to follow it. Around a bend the reddish color of the canyon was almost startling against the dark. Flickering in the glow of the campfire built in the center, the effect made it look as though the entire space was burning. On the far side of the fire, tethered to the rock it seemed, was a dapple gray mare. Sitting on the ground beside her next to a traveling pack and what was unmistakably a lute case…

“I must be dreaming.”

A head of dark hair popped up as he spoke and bright blue eyes locked with his own.

“Well if you aren’t, I certainly am.” Blue eyes crinkled into a smile, even as the hand drum was set aside and the other stood. “Even if this is a dream, it’s good to see you, Geralt. I admit my dreams have been rather unpleasant as of late, so this is a nice change of pace. For a dream.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt couldn’t keep the fond tone from creeping into his voice as he moved closer, even as the dream of Jaskier continued to ramble.

“You even sound fond, dare I say. I suppose that proves this is merely a dream. I should probably be concerned I don’t remember falling asleep,” he glanced around. “Even if this is where I was making camp for the night.”

“Where even are you?” Geralt couldn’t help but wonder aloud. “You’ve been so many places. Redania, Oxenfurt, Lan Exeter, and Beauclair all in the same season.”

“Ah, yes, it was rather tiring, that. But best to say one jump ahead as they say. One step ahead? Ahead, in either regard, and _with_ my head at that, thank you very much.”

“You know they’re after you,” Geralt realized.

“Nilfgaard? Of course I do. They’re looking for _you_ , you realize. Thought they could use me as bait, but no sir, not the great troubadour Jaskier! I have more tricks up my sleeves yet and am more than just a pretty face you know,” he faltered. “Though I admit I’m running low of tricks.”

“You’re running,” Geralt eyes widened as he practically whispered the fact. Jaskier frowned at him in response.

“Of course I am, I’m not foolish,” he frowned and moved to sit back down, wincing as he did so. “I know what waits for me if they catch me again.”

 _Again_?

“Fuck, Jaskier. Let me help you. Where are you? We’ll find you.”

Jaskier snorted and he looked up at him over the fire once more.

“Now I’m _certain_ I’m dreaming. Or perhaps it’s another mage trying to trick me? It wouldn’t be the first time, but I was only foolish once. Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice…well. Only one person has fooled me twice, and you’re _not him_.”

Geralt grit his teeth, the muscle in his jaw seizing as fury lanced through him. Nilfgaard had already caught Jaskier once? And now Jaskier was running, loathe to let it happen again.

He looked at the bard then, really looked, and realized the hollowness in his cheeks was born of hunger and stress rather than any sort of vanity. His clothes lacked the usual bright shine and eye catching color; they were serviceable, neutral, and entirely forgettable. His hair was longer too, not particularly styled, just unmaintained, though still clean. There were some things Jaskier would hold tight to. He bore a few days stubble on his face, and coupled with the lengthening hair it gave him an almost roguish look.

More than that though, he looked tired. Not defeated, no. He was watching Geralt with a look that was alive, and while wary, was still blazing. Just tired, the kind that sneaks up after a long stretch of hard work.

Or a lot of running.

There was a moment of quiet between them before Geralt hesitantly approached and sat opposite of Jaskier, keeping the fire between them. The bard believed him to be nothing more than a dream (and who was the dream here he wondered?) and he wouldn’t give him any reason to make this a nightmare. He glanced upward, following the line of trailing smoke to the starry sky above. The horse snorted again and Geralt glanced back down, Jaskier following his line of sight.

“She’s beautiful,” Geralt offered. “Does she have a name?”

“Of course she does, what kind of monster doesn’t name their horse?”

A small smile tugged at Geralt’s lips.

“One of my brothers, Lambert. Never names his horses.”

Jaskier startled, staring at him.

“…I don’t believe witchers are monsters,” he finally said, his eyes watching Geralt keenly.

“I know you don’t, Jaskier,” Geralt sighed looked back at the brilliant sky, though only a sliver was visible through the red rock. “You never have, have you?”

Jaskier shook his head, a contemplative look on it, even as he never looked away from Geralt.

“You have a brother?” the bard asked, his voice quiet.

“I used to have many, now it’s just Lambert, Eskel, and I. And one of our trainers, the old sword instructor of Kaer Morhen and now the Master of the keep, Vesemir.”

Geralt had known Jaskier for years and never told him this before. Why hadn’t he ever told him this before?

A choked sound drew his attention and he looked back at Jaskier who was now looking at him in awe, tears prickling the corners of his eyes.

“Jaskier?” Geralt scrambled to his feet, concern flooding every fiber of his being.

“You’ve never told me that before. This isn’t just a dream, is it? You’re really here,” Jaskier whispered, tears now flowing freely down his face. “How, how are you here?”

Geralt jerked back, startled, before shaking his head.

“I think I’m dreaming. Or you are? We both are? I don’t… _Jaskier_ ,” he cut himself off, “Jaskier, you need to listen to me. You have a power, you have a magic and Nilfgaard-”

The grey horse whinnied, a distressed sound, and Jaskier sprang to his feet, quickly smothering the fire and grabbing his pack.

His expression was one of fear and trepidation.

“Fuck,” Jaskier cursed. “They’re onto me again.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt tried to move forward, to yell at his friend, but his feet wouldn’t move and his voice was stuck in his throat. “Tell me where you are!” he tried to beg. His lips were moving but there was no sound coming from him.

Jaskier didn’t turn back to him as he saddled the horse with a rather impressive speed and attached the small pack and lute case to it.

The stars from the sky seemed to be spreading through the now dark canyon and spinning around him.

“I’ll be okay,” Jaskier promised, still not looking back at him. “I’ll be okay.”

“ _Jaskier_ ,” he tried to call once more. Then, it was dark and everything was still.

He opened his eyes with a jolt to see the dwindling fire of their camp near Novigrad and Ciri and Yennefer still asleep on the other side. The sky above was cloudy, barely any light from the stars shining through. Geralt sighed, his meditation effectively ruined and moved to stand, but looked down when the fire caught the light of something on his black trousers.

They were covered in a fine red dust, just like in the canyon.

Geralt stared in shock and horror. He’d been there. Somehow he’d been _there_. With Jaskier. Close enough to touch him, to hold him. He’d been close enough and-

 _I’ll be okay_. Jaskier had promised.

Gods, he better be. There was no more time to waste. Nilfgaard knew where he was. They’d already gotten to him once. Geralt needed to find him _now_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dolphin Surf is the correct answer. I legitimately almost gave up on it at that point, but powered through. It's exactly fine. Not my best.
> 
> Spirited Canyon on the other hand was one of those scenes where once I started writing I knew exactly where it was going. Jaskier having a hand drum is actually a reference to Karma Wheel | Pulse from the first chapter. The Tetris level has a lot of drum beats as it's ambient sound, so I made it Lettenhove's thing.
> 
> The Queen/Camel is in fact a real reference to Cassiopeia which as one of the 88 modern is the Queen, but was part of the Arab constellation of the Camel. My research tabs are always a riot when I'm working on fic. The rest of the constellation jokes are not direct references to anything. And yes, the conversation about stars is 100% a nod to The Lion King.
> 
> There's a sneaky-not sneaky line in here that tells you exactly what my current WIPs are and I'm pretty proud of how I managed to work it in.


	4. PART FOUR

Jeweled Veil | Temptation

Yennefer was equal parts skeptical and amazed the following morning when Geralt recounted what had occurred. It seemed impossible, yet the evidence was similarly indisputable.

“And you don’t know where he was?” She asked, rubbing the red dust between her fingers.

“East, or south, I think. It was warm,” he grunted in response. “I’m not entirely sure. I tried to ask, but-”

He sighed, despondent. He’d been _so close_.

“East, near the Korath?” Ciri asked. “Would he go south, really? If he knew Nilfgaard was looking for him?”

Geralt could only shake his head.

“I don’t know. He doesn’t look like himself. Obviously trying not to draw attention, but…”

_Fool me once._

“I think they already caught him once and he got away,” he murmured.

“You _think_?” Yennefer asked, her face contorted in anger and concern. “Tell me again what you saw, where he was.”

“I already told you. A narrow canyon of red rocks. It was dark, unfamiliar.”

She pressed her lips into a thin line before shaking her head.

“It doesn’t ring a bell. If it were somewhere south he could be making his way north. We could head that way after, towards Beauclair?”

“What good would it do? Let’s continue onto Novigrad and hope this friend has some good news for us.”

They were only a few days from the city and Geralt hoped the strange magic would recur, but each night he closed his eyes to a campsite in Redania and opened them again to a campsite in Redania. Each day he held onto that hope of seeing Jaskier again, until Novigrad came into view. When it did, he couldn’t bother to hold onto his disappointment anymore. But a fragile hope still bloomed and held it tightly.

Neither Geralt nor Yennefer were strangers to Novigrad, though Ciri was marveling at the sights.

“It’s so different than Cintra,” she murmured. “And I thought Oxenfurt was big.”

“Novigrad is one of the largest cities in the Northern Kingdoms,” Geralt affirmed. “It may take us some time to find Jaskier’s friend, there’s plenty of inns and taverns around.”

“Great,” Ciri muttered as they dismounted and led the horses to the stables.

The stable boy mistook Ciri’s disgruntled look and shot her a hesitant smile.

“Don’t worry miss, we’ll take good care of the horses while you’re here. Novigrad has something for everyone – every possible craft you could imagine and even a zoo!”

“How about a bard?” She muttered, still none too keen about the idea of wandering the city without direction. It was massive, and there were thousands of people within the walls.

“Plenty of those,” the boy agreed with a laugh and a nod. “But if you want the _best_ bard, go to The Cute Crow in the Gildorf district.” He had a goofy smile on his face and looked far away. “She’s _amazing_.”

“She?” Yennefer asked coming up behind Ciri.

The boy startled and nodded.

“Yes, yes! Callonetta. She’s a triumph to behold.”

Yennefer raised an eyebrow and looked down at Ciri.

“Well look at that, seems you’ve just made our search that much easier.”

Ciri flushed as the boy smiled at her again and the trio moved out of the stables and into the city proper.

“Gildorf, he said? You’re familiar with that area well, aren’t you, Geralt?” Yennefer asked slyly. Geralt glared at her response.

“Yen,” he growled low.

Ciri glanced between them.

“Is this about the Passiflora?”

Both adults turned to her with wide eyes.

“Grandfather mentioned it a few times. He said nothing in Cintra compared.”

“Well this is unexpected,” Yennefer said, one eyebrow raised. “Not something I would have anticipated you to know.”

Ciri rolled her eyes.

“Grandmother won her first battles when she was younger than I am and you’re surprised I know what sex and brothels are?” She asked plaintively.

Geralt snorted.

“I don’t know why I’m surprised anymore,” he shook his head. “The Cute Crow, the boy said?”

“Yes,” Ciri affirmed. “The Cute Crow in Gildorf.”

“Well, I know the way to Gildorf, we’ll have to look around a bit after that. I’m not familiar with The Cute Crow.”

“Well now I’m not surprised by that,” Ciri muttered, though there was amusement on her face.

“Ciri,” Geralt growled at her this time.

She laughed and even Yen snorted.

It didn’t take them long to make their way through the city to the affluent Gildorf district, and from there it was quick to find the side street with the tavern in question. Being in the Gildorf district it was one of the nicer taverns Geralt had been in, and clearly more of a cabaret than just a regular tavern. Similar to the Passiflora there was a raised stage to one side though it was set up for music. There was a drum and flute duet when they arrived, both men and clearly not Callonetta. Sitting by the bar, however, in resplendent red with long blonde hair and a lute learning beside her was another bard.

For a moment, Geralt felt a pang of guilt. Jaskier’s silks rarely looked so fine, travel worn and dirty from the road as they were, despite the care he bestowed upon them to keep them clean and intact as possible. If he hadn’t chosen to follow Geralt all those years, would this sort of tavern be where he’d play? Where he thrived? Jaskier appreciated the finer things, and a tavern like The Cute Crow was just the kind of place he’d love. Made for music, full of color and life. Even the glass of the windows was stained in a myriad of colors, the light shining in gleamed through the room as though it were alive. The tapestries hanging on the walls framed paintings of great stories and heroes, and they too were hung with sparkling baubles that caught and reflected the lights. Rich reds and golds, and shimmering blue and violets. The tavern absolutely sparkled as a result, as if it were a jewel in and of itself.

Yennefer strode with confidence to the bar and propped herself against it right next to the blonde bard.

“Can I help you?” A fresh-faced barmaid asked walking over to her.

“Two ales, and a cider for the lass,” Yennefer said simply, rapping her knuckles against the bar top.

The bard glanced over at her, then past her, her eyes catching first on Ciri, then up at the imposing witcher. She straightened on her stool and turned slightly.

“Well this is a surprise. I’ve heard stories of a great White Wolf, but I was almost starting to think you were just that.”

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed and stepped closer. “And who told you these stories.”

“Why, I think you already know him,” the trobairitz replied with a teasing smile. “One of my dearest friends, though admittedly an accomplished storyteller.”

“Hmm,” Geralt repeated.

Her eyes darted around the tavern and she beckoned him in close.

“I’m sure you’re aware that for all the noise the city listens. I can’t talk now, but if you want to chat more about our mutual friend, you can find me later.” She reached into a pocket of her doublet and pulled out a notebook not dissimilar from the kind Jaskier always kept on his person. She scribbled on a page, tore it out, and handed it to him. “The Kingfisher Inn.” She shot a grin at the barmaid who rolled her eyes in return. “Where I usually play in the evenings. The Crow is fine, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not my preferred clientele.”

The barmaid shrugged.

“No sense not enjoying what you enjoy.”

Geralt glanced at the note.

“Hierarch Square?” He confirmed, and she nodded in response.

“Tell Olivier I sent you, he’ll take good care of you,” she grinned. The pair on the stage finished to a smattering of polite and Callonetta grabbed her lute and hopped down off the stool. “That’s me next. I’ll see you at the Kingfisher Inn later?”

Yennefer nodded, taking a seat as the ale and cider were served. They stayed long enough to hear the trobairitz’s first few songs, one they didn’t recognize, but the second, _the second_ was one Jaskier’s. She caught Geralt’s eye partway through and winked. Geralt finished his ale quickly after that and all but fled the tavern.

“Well she’s certainly a talent, to be sure,” Yennefer remarked as she followed Geralt out of the tavern and back into the winding streets of Novigrad.

The witcher didn’t acknowledge her, merely grunted as he dodged the busy streets until turning down one that was quiet an empty. He collapsed on a nearby bench and buried his head in his hands until Ciri and Yennefer caught up to him, slightly out of breath.

“Would you like to share what’s got your goat _this time_?”

Geralt took a shuddering breath, but shook his head.

Ciri didn’t say a word, just sat down beside him and leaned against him until he glanced over at her. She gazed back at him. That blasted _look_ she gave him. She didn’t even _need_ to say anything.

He sighed.

“This is the life Jaskier could have had. _Should_ have had. And now he’s what – being hunted like an animal? Because we were friends?”

Yennefer’s eyebrows went up in surprise.

“So you finally admit you’re friends?”

“ _Yennefer_.” She made an amused sound. “I just don’t- _why_? Why would he give up a life where he could be comfortable and loved for nights spent sleeping in the dirt and getting chased out of villages for me?”

There was an almost awkward pause.

“You do realize you answered your own question, right? Please tell me you realize you just answered your own question.”

He looked at Yennefer in confusion before Ciri burst out.

“Geralt! He did it for _you_.”

Geralt looked between them, his eyes comically wide as that realization struck home.

“Fuck.”

Priscilla, the trobairitz Callonetta, confirmed she’d seen Jaskier with Shani back in Oxenfurt the previous fall but had little other information to offer them.

“I’m so sorry. I saw him briefly in Lan Exeter before I met your friend, but didn’t realize anything was amiss. Then I didn’t see him again until Oxenfurt late in the year. He looked so tired when he came through, worn down. He didn’t say much, didn’t even want to spend a night on the town. He said he was headed to Lyria for the winter, but now I wonder if he was telling the truth,” she looked at them, concern written across her feature. “This is about Nilfgaard, isn’t it? I’ve heard they were looking for him, for you.”

Gods. How long had Jaskier been running? How had he gotten away?

“Is there anything else you can tell us?” Yennefer asked, frowning all the while.

She shook her head, looking just as unhappy as they felt.

“He’s in trouble, isn’t he? He…he bought a new lute while he was here.”

Geralt looked at her sharply at that.

“He gave me his for safekeeping, said he’d be back for it. I didn’t realize…he’s scared, isn’t he? I’m sorry. I wish I could help you, help Jaskier, more, but,” she sighed and Geralt was startled to see a tear roll down the side of her face and sob escape her. “I wish he’d told us anything. We could have helped.” She looked Geralt straight in the eye. “Please. You have to find him, you have to help him. Jaskier doesn’t deserve this.”

“He doesn’t,” Geralt agreed shortly. “And I will find him. You have my word.”

“He trusts you, you know?” She asked, still not breaking his gaze. “Believes in you. And because of that, I do too.”

She didn’t say anything else after she stood. Merely wiped away the tears, offered them a brittle smile and picked up her lute. As she made her way through the Kingfisher Inn, the patrons turned toward her, begging for a song, and within moments there was no sign of her melancholy or distress, just the joyful notes of a song ringing out.

“ _Oh fishmonger, oh fishmonger  
Come quell your daughter’s hunger_”

==

Forest Dawn | Boscage

With little else for leads or confirmed information on where the bard had gone, they began the long trek to Lyria from Novigrad. The tentative hope that had built up before speaking with Priscilla had waned, leaving the journey quieter than it had been before. There had been no dreams, no new songs in the villages along the way, no hint of Jaskier or Dandelion or anything. And yet, despite that, Geralt _knew_ beyond a doubt that Jaskier was still out there, alive. One step ahead of Nilfgaard.

The storm caught them on the road by surprise. One minute it had been a beautiful summer day, birdsong in the air, the sun shining in the sky, and the next, thunder rumbling and shaking the ground beneath their feet. The skies opened up and rain poured down. They had found shelter beneath a craggy outcrop of rocks, not quite a cave but large enough that even the horses could stand beneath it. The storm brought with it cool winds and the damp left them feeling the chill. Without the means to start a fire, they huddled together under the rock and watched the lightning flash as the storm raged on.

“One of my earliest lessons at Aretuza was to catch lightning in a bottle,” Yennefer remarked, eyes on the sky and faraway. “They said it was the ultimate expression of Chaos.”

“Is that even possible?” Ciri asked, and Yennefer glanced toward her with a small smile.

“It is. But just like many other things, Chaos is not _meant_ to be bottled up,” she said this even as she looked at Geralt, who watched her with a frown. “It’s meant to be free and flowing through all things. And just because you put it in a bottle, eventually it will escape. And when it does…”

She trailed off until Ciri prompted her.

“When it does?”

“It _explodes_ ,” Yennefer whispered.

There was a moment of quiet apart from the steady fall of rain after that, just before a loud crack of thunder and flash of lightning caused Ciri to shriek in surprise and press tighter against Geralt. He raised made a look of question down at her.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

He smiled a little even as he shook his head in response.

“Don’t be, we all get startled sometimes.”

“Even you?” She asked, mischief back in her eyes.

“Even me,” he affirmed, surprising her.

The rain seemed to taper off after that, the roll of thunder lessening as the storm moved on and the sun began to peek through the trees, though still cover the forest in cool shades of gray and blue. Birdsong once more filled the air and Geralt moved out from the outcrop.

“Looks like it’s clear, we should get moving again,” he informed them as he took Roach’s reins to move them back toward the road they’d been following before the storm. Birds took flight overhead as they navigated the dense copse. They had gone further into the woods seeking shelter from the storm than they realized. As they came into view of the road, the sun slipping behind the horizon and shining through the rain-heavy air turned the sky an ethereal shade of gold.

The whole forest shone with it.

“It’s like something out a fairy tale,” Ciri remarked, looking around and taking it all in. It was truly a remarkably beautiful sight. “Or a song. There’s a song about a golden wood, isn’t there?”

“Hmm,” Yennefer looked thoughtful as she brought Aster alongside Roach. “I think I know that one.”

Geralt snorted.

“You’re not as subtle as you imagine yourselves to be. _Lady of Goldenwood,_ and yes it’s one of Jaskier’s. You’d never think it with how much he seems to complain about travel, but he loves getting caught in storms. He said…” He trailed off, thinking about Jaskier’s laughter as he explained why he couldn’t just stay in a city.

“ _Inspiration isn’t found in walls, Geralt. It’s found in the storm and the seas, the sun and the breeze. It’s found out there, on a real adventure. You’re the one who first pointed it out to me, you realize?_ ”

“He said there’s inspiration there,” he finished lamely, once again getting stuck on _that song_.

Ciri hummed a few a bars before her sweet, untrained voice echoed through the woods, joined by Yennefer.

“ _Midnight in autumn moon  
Dawning upon silver dew  
Shimmering like fireflies  
And golden leaves from up high  
Striding up to me_

 _The lady of goldenwood  
In shrouds of pearls and palest white  
Though she bears the mark of the wilds  
She is the queen of her kind_”

“How curious,” Yennefer remarked after they finished. “Shrouds of palest white, much like someone else I know.”

Geralt grunted.

“You’ve made your point,” he groused.

“Have I? Because you still haven’t talked about it, Geralt.”

“What do you want me to say?” He asked spinning to face her, emotions bleeding into his face and expression rapidly. The explosion from the bottle, at last. “I’ve been oblivious to Jaskier’s feelings for two decades? That he’s given up his life for me? That he’s running for his life right now because of me?

“What exactly should we talk about? How much easier my life has been since he started following me and refused to leave? How he practically erased a title I’d borne for decades and replaced it with something the people of the Continent look forward to encountering? Should we talk about how I almost killed him in Rinde? Shall we discuss how I’ve never once called him a friend to his face? How I never told him that I was willing to do _anything_ for you to save him and his voice? How I told him his singing is fillingless pie and never took it back?

“How about when I told him everything in my life was his fault when he really brought me to you? To you both? To the greatest things I have in my life, my _family_? How I implied he was an unworthy travel companion when not once in twenty years did he ever do anything but _try_ to help, even when it got us into trouble?”

He lost his momentum and seemed to visibly deflate, his expression tight.

“I never talk. Not with him. Not when it matters. I can talk to you. I can talk to Ciri. I can talk to Lambert, and Eskel, and everyone else it seems, but talking to Jaskier? I can’t. I can’t and I don’t know _why_.”

Yennefer was quiet for a long moment, just listening and letting Geralt’s explosion of emotions wash over her. It was both expected and not. She reached forward and lay a hand on his arm and when he looked at her, his face relaxing back into something more neutral she offered a gentle smile.

“I’m certain you’ll figure it out, Geralt. And if not, Ciri and I will be right there to help you, won’t we?”

“Oh, no. I remember what Grandmother and Eist were like,” she replied looking between them, her nose scrunching up. “Gross.”

With that, the bottled up emotions dissipaited like the earlier storm and they continued down the road lighter for it.

Geralt was resolved. He would find Jaskier. They would talk, really talk. About who they were, what they were. What pleased them.

He would prove himself a worthy friend.

Over and over on the way to Lyria Ciri would sing the song, though the woods never quite lit with that golden glow the way they had after the unexpected storm. They’d be awash in vibrant colors of sunrise and sunset, beautiful in their own right but not quite golden.

“ _Sung by flutes of ivory  
Notes soar round the elder tree  
Stairs ascending to far up high  
Where golden leaves kiss the sky_

 _The lady of goldenwood  
in shrouds of pearls and palest white  
Though she bears the mark of the wilds  
She is the queen of her kind_”

And sometimes, Geralt would start to hum along.

==

Kaleidoscope | 3 Senses

Jaskier had been in Lyria.

Jaskier had _wintered_ in Lyria.

Geralt felt relief wash over him as the steward politely informed them that, “ _Yes, Master Jaskier spent the winter gracing our court with his mastery of music and tale. We sought to keep him longer but he cited a previous engagement for the summer and following winter season. If you see him, please let him know the invitation still stands._ ”

The steward had no information on what other engagements Jaskier had, his plans following winter, but still.

It was _something_.

They were headed back to the inn when Yennefer stiffened imperceptibly before murmuring lowly.

“We’re being followed.”

Geralt didn’t react in a way most would catch, but Yennefer could see the slight narrowing of his eyes.

“Where?”

“The market with the apples, the man in the vest.”

“I see him,” Geralt grunted.

Yennefer continued to walk confidently, but strode past the street the inn was on.

Ciri looked at them slightly confused, having not caught the whispered exchange, and Yennefer smiled down at her, even as she tapped the pommel of the dagger on her belt to indicate danger.

“I have a few more ingredients to pick up. You don’t mind, do you?”

Ciri’s eyes darted around briefly before she forced herself to appear relaxed and smiled at the sorceress.

“Of course not! What a silly question. Will you tell me what they’re for?”

“Certainly, I may even help you carry them and give our pack mule a break,” Yennefer grinned in reply. They both bit back laughter at Geralt’s half-hearted “ _Hey_.” in response.

Yennefer continued to walk, looking for all the world that she had a destination in mind, but her roving eyes told a different story. Geralt caught the gleam in them as she found what she was looking for and between one step and the next she led them off to the street a dark little alley between buildings. They stayed there, tucked into the darkness until the man in the vest stepped up near the alley entrance with a curse. With a nod from Yennefer, Geralt shot a hand out and grabbed the man by the collar of his vest and shirt and hauled him into the alley. Ciri gasped but stepped back, glaring at the man. Geralt held his steel sword against the neck of their follower and Yennefer made a show of unsheathing her dagger and giving it a quick flip.

“I just want to talk!” The man rushed to speak before they could even say a word to him.

“Oh? And do you usually stalk the people you want to talk through the markets like a godsdamned spy?” Yennefer snarled.

The man’s face paled.

“Because he _is_ a spy,” Geralt snarled, the sharp edge of his sword cutting in just enough to draw a bead of red blood. It slid down his neck, bobbing with his Adam’s apple as he swallowed hard.

“Yes! Yes, I’m a spy – but, look you’re looking for the bard, right? Jaskier? Dande-”

He didn’t get to finish before Geralt pressed in closer with an animalistic growl.

“What do you know?”

“I work for Dijkstra – Sigismund Dijkstra!”

“Redanian Secret Service,” Yennefer realized, though the fierce expression on her face did not soften. “I thought so. There was a black petticoat hanging alone out of a window where you started following us that made me suspicious and now you’ve confirmed it.”

“It was supposed to be for Jaskier, he was feeding information. Nilfgaard caught him last autumn, but he escaped!” The man hurried to explain, each word only making the witcher angrier and angrier.

“He was spying for you?” Geralt demanded.

“Dijkstra didn’t... look, he agreed to it. I don’t know the arrangement, but he agreed to it!”

“Where is he?” When the man didn’t respond, Geralt shook him, the sword pressed in again, drawing another bead of blood. “ _Where_?”

“I don’t know! He’s late checking in,” the man admitted breathlessly. “That’s why I was following you, I was hoping he’d contacted you.”

Yennefer and Geralt exchanged a long look and Geralt released the spy, though he did not sheathe his sword.

“You better start talking, _spy_. And fast.”

The man coughed and brought a hand up to the blood cut on his throat. When Geralt stepped toward him again he dropped his hand from his neck to hold both up in a placating gesture.

“I don’t know much! The bard was approached by Dijkstra in Trelogor. Nilfgaard had been shaking down bards looking for him and he made a deal to pass along information. I guess he got caught sometime later but got away and sent an _incredible_ dossier of Nilfgaard’s troop numbers and plans. Dijkstra had arranged for him to be here in Lyria for the winter, he was supposed to send more information this spring but he’s missed the last two check-ins. When you arrived in the city, I thought perhaps he’d made contact with you.”

Geralt shook his head minutely. Jaskier had been spying. He’d been caught by Nilfgaard and was _still spying_.

Despite the spy’s words, Geralt suspected the arrangement was not entirely willing on Jaskier’s part.

“You know something about his arrangement with Dijkstra,” Yennefer stated, still staring at the man. Geralt thanked her silently for speaking his suspicions. “What is it?”

The man swallowed again.

Yennefer stepped forward, the Chaos around her palpable as she started at him with her striking violet eyes.

“You will tell us all you know, or your usefulness to Dijkstra will be done with.”

“You!” The man practically cried. “It had to do you with. We agreed not to speak of any sightings of you or your movements if we saw you. We were to leave you alone.”

Yennefer stepped back with a satisfied smirk.

“Seems you’ve broken your arrangement then. The bard doesn’t work for Dijkstra any longer as his end of their bargain has not been upheld. If I – if _we_ find out you’ve continued to seek him out there will be _nowhere_ Dijkstra can hide.”

There were threats, and then there were _threats_. Sigismund Dijkstra was a formidable, powerful man in both mind and body. For Yennefer to declare them openly opposed to him for the sake of Jaskier…

The man nodded his agreement, his eyes flickering toward the entrance of the alley. Geralt finally sheathed his sword and stared until the man scrambled out of the alley and disappeared.

Ciri blew out a harsh breath behind them. They’d momentarily forgotten she was there. As one, they turned to face her.

“This is bad, isn’t it? Nilfgaard is after Jaskier, Redanian Intelligence is after him…if they find out what he can do.”

“Shh,” Geralt shushed her, eyes darting around. “We can’t speak of that, not here.”

What they’d heard, what they’d seen, what had been spoken. They needed to be careful. If they were going to find Jaskier and keep him one step ahead, they _had_ to be more careful.

She looked momentarily distressed before nodding firmly. They waited a few minutes before leaving the alley and returning to the inn. Safely ensconced in their room, she couldn’t help but speak.

“The clue Yennefer saw, the petticoat?” She asked looked at the sorceress, who nodded. “Do you think…would he leave a clue like that for you, Geralt?”

Geralt started to shake his head but stopped and he turned to stare at her wide-eyed.

“Ciri, you’re a _genius_.”

She preened under the compliment even as Yennefer snorted at Geralt.

“Thank you?” She replied, looking confused.

“The village, near the spring,” Geralt said, turning to look at Yennefer again. “The barman, do you remember?”

“The tavern was empty but he was hopeful?”

“He was wearing a yellow felt flower. A _buttercup_.”

Yennefer’s eyes went comically wide.

“ _Jaskier_ ,” she started to smile. “Okay, okay. It took us a while, but he knows we’re looking for him. We keep our eyes open, watch for his clues. And keep quiet. We keep Nilfgaard off his back.”

They didn’t have a lead following Lyria, so Geralt focused on the Path, on contracts and monster hunting. All the while, they kept their eyes and ears open for the clues Jaskier had been leaving behind.

They were there. Felt flowers in little shops and pinned on barmaid’s aprons. Songs being sung. Whispered words. Hints as to where he was headed, where he’d been.

They were following the Yaruga west and feeling a bit like they were traveling in circles, but Geralt refused to give up. Jaskier was still out there, still moving. He would do anything to find him and keep him safe. And the little signs, those clues, that tangible evidence of Jaskier and the fact that he was still out there and alive, those were the best thing Geralt had seen in a long time.

==

Turtle Dreams | Around Me

They were just outside of Brugge when it happened. Geralt opened his eyes and knew immediately that he was dreaming again. Unlike the first dream of waves and sun and laughter, or the second dream that had pulled him to Jaskier’s side this one was immediately different. Real and not-real in a way he couldn’t begin to explain.

It started green. Everything around him, just a strange expanse of green. And then the ground beneath his feet coalesced into the green of trodden grass, and the green around him went from solid to a variety of greens and golds and browns and blacks as it turned into a forest. He could feel the softness of the grass beneath his feet as he walked and the breeze on his face as it rustled the trees. And yet, he felt like he was watching through someone else eyes. A sigh escaped him, but it wasn’t his voice.

Not that Geralt wasn’t prone to sighing, it just didn’t tend to be so dramatic or melodic. He took stock of the things he could feel. The clothing was soft and light, certainly not the weight or thickness of armor. There was a strap over his shoulder and across his chest but it didn’t have the right heft of a sword. The shape of it as it bumped against his back…an instrument. And not just any instrument, but a _lute_.

 _Fuck_. Was this what Jaskier was seeing? Had seen? With no control over the body he was in and no way to communicate Geralt could only watch.

The green forest was alive all around him and it soon became obvious Jaskier was following a deer trail through it.

Birds were bouncing between the trees and the underbrush would shake from time to time as rodents and grouse darted about sight-unseen.

Geralt felt a pang of nostalgia. How many times had he and Jaskier walked the roads and trails through a scene just like this one? But while Jaskier paused to enjoy the birdsong or a colorful bloom as he followed the trail, Geralt realized they never really enjoyed the splendor of the world around them when they traveled together. And yet, how many times had they stopped to enjoy the sea and sky and stars on this strange journey to chase the bard down?

All connected indeed.

Jaskier was tired. It was obvious in the slow, loping pace as he walked, and the shake of his legs when he sat for a short break, pulling rations from a small bag on his hip. He lifted a hand to run it over his face, the scruff from the earlier dream now grown into a fully-fledged beard.

This time his sigh was far more world-weary.

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up,” he breathed, looking up at the gray mare he’d been leading down the deer trail. She looked tired too, her ears flickering as he spoke.

Geralt basked momentarily in the sound of Jaskier’s voice, but it was short lived when the words the bard had spoken sunk in.

 _No_ , he wanted to shout. He willed Jaskier to stand up, to keep moving. _You can’t give up. You can’t!_

“But how disappointed in me would you be? I said I’d be okay,” he forced himself back to his feet, but his bone-deep exhaustion was even more apparent as he did so. “I’ll be okay.”

He continued moving.

The details of the world faded into an incomprehensible wash of green.

The green turned to blue, the blue turned to gray.

Before the world sharpened into focus again Geralt felt the chill.

There was an odd weight around his wrists.

And then-

Pain.

The world came into focus, but fuzzy at the same time. He was caught. Trapped. Captured.

The sky above was overcast, the gray seeming to stretch down to cover everything around him. Or perhaps it felt that way because of his own despondency. There was no doubt as to where he was, who had caught up with him. The neat rows of tents, the black and gold banners flying proudly.

Nilfgaard.

The pain spiked again and there was an odd detachment as Geralt acknowledged his, no, _Jaskier’s_ injuries. The sharp sting of a split lip, a throb in his ankle, twisted certainly, ribs bruised, at least one possibly cracked. Not broken, thank the gods. His mouth and throat were dry and his stomach ached with the dull gnaw of having gone too long without a proper meal.

Geralt _raged._

They’d been chasing him for so long, across the Continent to and fro, come so close so many times.

 _This couldn’t be how it ended_.

Guards passed by, laughing and jeering. One kicked him, and immobile as he was he couldn’t defend against it or get out of the way. He flinched, but made no sound.

“Careful,” one of the guard admonished. “They want him alive and unharmed.”

“Sure, but they never said we couldn’t rough him up a bit. He’s got plenty of time to heal.”

Geralt wasn’t sure if he should be proud Jaskier didn’t give them the satisfaction of crying out, or horrified when he realized how much his throat _burned_.

The laughing guards moved on and Jaskier coughed harshly, throat dry, curling into himself slightly on the dry, dusty ground.

Geralt could practically feel the sorrow rolling through him.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier croaked, to who, for what, Geralt wasn’t certain.

 _Stop talking_ , he wanted to beg. _Save your strength_.

He could feel the hot sting of tears welling in his eyes, in _Jaskier’s_ eyes, but to his immense surprise they didn’t fall. Jaskier who cried at anything he considered lovely or beautiful. Jaskier who cried when he was happy as often as he did when he was sad. Jaskier who could cry when hearing a story he found particularly moving. Jaskier whose current sorrow was so overwhelming it was hard to breathe.

Did. Not. Cry.

His eyes looked out over the neat rows of tents. The mocking black banners flapping in the wind.

His ears picked up the sounds of weapons being sharpened. Nilfgaard’s forces milling about the camp.

He could smell the fires burning.

He could taste the dust of the ground on his tongue and throat.

But all he could feel was anger. And a deep want, a desire hidden far down that was bubbling up and threatening to roll over. He wanted Nilfgaard to _burn_ once more, like they had at Sodden. It started small, deep inside. A tiny spark, but it caught. It caught and flooded through him and soon the anger was a raging inferno and Jaskier, Geralt, they both _burned with it._

For a moment the gray of the world was once more awash in color.

And then all Geralt could see through Jaskier’s view was _red_.

There was a ringing in his ears. A high whine paired with a low roar.

 _Oh_. Geralt realized dumbly as he watched through Jaskier’s eyes and looked out as flames engulfed the camp. The post he was tied to stayed unharmed, the fire never licking toward him though the heat was palpable.

The ringing in his ears was from the screaming and the roar of the inferno as it devoured the camp.

And just like the camp around him, the anger inside of him continued to _burn, burn, burn_.

The chains around his wrists snapped.

Jaskier fell forward to the ground with a lurch.

The red of the world around him swirled into black.

Geralt lunged awake with an animalistic shout and a name on his lips.

” _Jaskier!_ ”

Ciri and Yennefer both startled awake beside him, immediately on edge.

“Geralt?” Yennefer asked as the witcher came back to himself, staring at them with his golden eyes wide. “Did you dream again?”

He nodded, swallowing away the dry, dusty feeling still lingering in his throat.

“Was it like last time? Were you there? Did you see him?”

“No,” Geralt bit out, coughing slightly to clear the burn in his throat that lingered. “No. I _was_ him.”

Yennefer’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“And?”

He shook his head. It couldn’t have been real. It couldn’t have. Could it?

“Geralt,” her tone held a hint of warning. “What. Did. You. See?”

“I don’t know. A premonition? A memory? I don’t know which would be worse,” Geralt sighed and pushed himself upright, Ciri pressed a waterskin into his hands and he took it gratefully, the water immediately soothing. “Gods, Yen. He was so tired. He’s trying so damned hard and…”

Yennefer continued to look at him, even as Ciri looked away at the sun beginning to peak up and bringing light to the day.

“They caught him,” he continued, his voice pitched low. Yennefer made a sound of distress at that. “They caught him, they hurt him. And then…”

He closed his eyes recalling the feeling of the anger roaring through him like fire and how it took down the world around him.

“And then they _burned_.”

There was a gleam of satisfaction in Yen’s eyes when she heard that and he saw her hands clench and unclench.

“Good,” she said at last. “Nilfgaard deserves to burn.”

Ciri’s quiet caught their attention and they both looked to her, still watching the sunrise.

“Ciri?” Geralt called quietly. She didn’t turn to face them but her voice carried back to them all the same.

“Was it real?”

Geralt shook his head.

“I can’t be sure.”

She turned to face him sharply, a strange expression on her face and her green-eyed gaze sharp.

“Can’t you? The sun,” she turned back to where it rose. “It’s red.”

“That’s an old wives’ tale,” Yennefer said, knowing what the girl was implying, but Geralt frowned.

“A red sun rises. Blood spilt in the night.”

There was an odd stillness over their camp before Geralt spurred them into action and moved them along, back to the road and into Brugge. It was obvious as entered the city that _something_ had happened.

Geralt caught snatches of the excited whispers as they travelled from person to person.

“ _That’s right, last night-_ ”

“ _...burned_!”

And perhaps the most confirming of all.

” _Nilfgaard will certainly be feeling that for a while_.”

The whole story came out in the inn.

“That’s right, a rider brought news this morning. Nilfgaard’s big camp over near Cintra. All of it, gone. Burned to the ground.”

Yennefer and Ciri both turned to look at Geralt who swallowed, a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Any survivors?”

The man grinned and shook his head, looking pleased.

“Not as far as anyone could tell. The whole camp is nothing more than ash. And good riddance.”

That funny feeling in the pit of his stomach dropped out.

 _Oh no_.

 _Jaskier_.

==

Celebration | All Nations

After the first rider came a second. Then a third and a fourth. All telling the same story; Nilfgaard’s large occupation camp near Cintra had been devastated. Burned to the ground. No survivors. Piles of ash as far as the eye could see.

The riders were delighted to share the news and eager to move on to spread word throughout the Northern Kingdoms. They saw it as a sign, a rallying cry. Sodden had kept Nilfgaard at bay, yes. But this? This was a crushing blow. Someone had taken the fight to _them_ and _won_. Word soon came that smaller camps were being attacked by Northern forces on both sides of the Yaruga. Scouts rooted out. Spies exposed. Within three days of their arrival in Brugge word came through that a large number of Nilfgaard’s soldiers had withdrawn back into Nazair and the perceived safety of the Nilfgaard Empire.

Geralt was pacing after hearing the news. There was still no word of any survivors near Cintra – Nilfgaard or otherwise.

“I have to go,” he finally said, neither Yennefer nor Ciri surprised at the declaration. Just solemn in their agreement. But Ciri shook her head, eyes brimming with tears.

“I can’t, Geralt. Please don’t make me…I can’t. I’m not ready.”

She could go back and see her kingdom, her home in ruins, surrounded by ash. No matter how far she’d come since the fall, she wasn’t ready.

Yennefer placed comforting hands on her shoulders and looked at Geralt.

“You need to go,” she confirmed. He had to see it for himself. He had to _know_. “We’ll keep moving,” she continued giving Ciri’s shoulders a gentle squeeze. North, perhaps?”

Geralt nodded. “Temeria. You could…east of Vizima, there’s a village. They know me there. White Orchard.”

“To White Orchard it is. And if not there, I’ll leave word. I’m certain you’ll find us.”

Geralt departed before the sun set that third day, riding hard west towards Cintra. Beautiful, wonderful, faithful Roach kept his urgent pace as long as she could. He knew he was pushing her and after two days hard ride finally stopped to give her a proper rest in a stable. He tipped the stable boy an extra coin and the eager young lad was practically tripping over himself as he promised to take special care of the horse. Geralt rubbed her nose and she nudged at him with her great head, as though to indicate her understanding and her forgiveness for the hard ride.

She’d always been a bit testier since Caingorn. Since he’d separated from Jaskier and his pockets of treats (or rather bribes) for the fiery mare.

“He’s all right,” the witcher murmured to her, still rubbing her nose. “He promised. And a promise made is a promise a kept.”

“As true for a commoner as it is for a queen,” the stable boy quipped nearby.

Geralt’s golden gaze bore into him and the youngster flinched back.

“Where did you hear that?” Geralt demanded, his teeth grit tightly so as not to fright the boy further. The stable boy could only shrug and shake his head in response.

“A song I think? I’m not sure, there was a traveler, a while back.”

“A bard?” Geralt prompted, but the boy shook his head.

“I don’t remember, it was ages ago, sir.”

“Hmm,” Geralt pressed the stable boy another coin, to the other’s immense delight, and left for the inn across the way. It was lively, far livelier than the villages on the road to Brugge had been and far livelier than he expected having crossed into the Cintran lands, but the cause of their joy was obvious.

Nilfgaard had been dealt a decisive blow with the fire that had taken out their camp, and sent them running, their hold over Cintra severely weakened, if not broken.

“Don’t care if it’s one of those bloody mages or some monster that did it,” one very drunk, very large man chortled, his face flushed red with drink. “I want to shake his hand!”

“Or hers,” a serving girl said with a wink, leaning over to refill his tankard.

“Aye, or hers!” He roared with a laugh, pulling the serving girl into his lap. She squawked in surprise and for a moment Geralt tensed, but she laughed and lightly smacked him on the chest and he let her go again with a wink. “Sorry, Saffri, couldn’t help meself.”

“You make me spill the ale, you pay for it,” she threatened, though she gave him a teasing grin.

He nodded eagerly in acceptance before turning back to his companions.

“Wish I’d seen it,” one of his tablemates remarked with lament. “I watched the city burn that night. Would have liked to have seen them get theirs.”

“Someone certainly has it out for them now, don’t they?” Another asked. “First Sodden, now this. Seems their illustrious White Flame has lit a spark indeed. Just not the one he wanted to.”

They laughed, clanking their tankards together, ale sloshing about as they did.

“To burning the Empire!”

“To burning the black!”

“To Cintra!”

The last was echoed by a few patrons around the room as Geralt made his way to the bar. The man watched him approach cautiously, though not unkindly.

“You look tired, traveler,” he remarked, placing a mug on the counter and pouring it full without being asked. “Can I do something for you?”

“I’m headed west,” Geralt replied simply, though from the chatter, west at this point could only mean one thing it seemed. “Could use a room.”

“A room I can do ya,” the man agreed. “Going to see the black fields for yourselves? Heard it’s all ash as far as the eye can see. And good riddance to bad rubbish for it. It’s no less than they deserve for what they did in Cintra. Nilfgaard takes no prisoners, you know?”

“Hmm,” Geralt took a long drink of his ale even as the man continued talking.

“A fire that big, you’d think someone would have seen it but it’s all just rumors. I guess it was over pretty fast. Must’ve been one of those mages, but one lad swears he saw wings swooping about in the flame.”

Geralt fought the urge to roll his eyes. Sometimes fables were just that, and Phoenixes were certainly one of them.

“Of course, the way it’s said to have gone, the fire was everywhere all at once. Still, we owe a great deal of thanks to whomever drove those black-clad bastards back.”

Unbeknownst to Geralt and the innkeeper, there were some in Nilfgaard actually celebrating the massive defeat.

“This is good news, your Majesty,” Vilgefortz said with a smile. “It means the Force is _real_.”

“And it proves his powers are real as well,” Fringilla added, though more placating than the other mage. “We simply have to rethink our strategy. Capture clearly isn’t the way to go, but a lure perhaps. We could find a way to entice him.”

“You’ve had your chance with this _Force_ ,” Emhyr spat, looking between the two of him. ”If he’s truly an agent of Destiny, I want him _dead_. Then Destiny is mine to command and I _will_ have Cirilla returned to me.”

Vilgefortz frowned even as Fringilla nodded and swept out of the room.

“I don’t think that’s wise,” he commented as soon as she was out of earshot, his voice pitched low and soothing. “It’s a minor setback to be sure-”

“A minor setback? Tens of thousands of our soldiers, obliterated in a single night!”

“Yes, but if you can control that power, your Majesty. Imagine. _Imagine._ ”

“What do you propose?”

Vilgefortz grinned.

Unlike the celebrating patrons, it was not a nice grin.

The celebrating patrons also did nothing to lift Geralt’s mood and he retired early after paying for a quick meal. It was their very delight that had him so concerned. Their words, repeated and ringing through the air that brought him worry.

No survivors. Nothing but ash.

But Jaskier had been there.

Jaskier had been-

Had he survived? Or was he nothing amongst the ash?

Geralt didn’t want to know, yet he had to. Had to see for himself and _know_ for certain.

“ _I’ll be okay,”_ he’d said in that canyon. He’d said it to Geralt. He’d _promised._

Geralt rode out of the village before dawn, unwilling to wait any longer than he needed to. It took several days more for him to draw close enough to Cintra that the signs became apparent, but the smell on the wind was unmistakable.

Fire and blood and ash.

The sky was still heavy with it, even days later. Clouds of it, gray and eerie and heavy, hanging in the sky. It cast an unpleasant glow of light over the road and fields. And then, he could see it, just as had been described.

Once grand and considered the jewel of the North, the walls now crumbled, buildings charred black and left to ruin, the city of Cintra cast a bleak backdrop to the barren fields of black that surrounded it. He was momentarily glad Ciri wasn’t here to see it.

He nudged Roach onward. He did his best to follow the lighter trails of ash, what would have been walkways between rows and rows of tents. There was nothing. There was _nothing_. Just ash and ash and _ash_ as far as he could see. There were no scraps of fabric left behind by the tents, no wood from their posts, no tools or weapons, or bones or _anything_ but ash. To leave nothing behind the fire would have had to have burned hotter than could be imagined.

The wind stirred, swirling a patch of the gray, claggy dust into the air and where it swirled, a peek of color caught Geralt’s eye.

It couldn’t be.

He turned Roach and gave a brief apology for disturbing the ash to whatever gods were listening and rode straight to what he thought he’d seen.

He dismounted and walked closer to where the wind still seemed to be blowing the ash around in a strangely isolated swirl, faster and faster and then stopping abruptly, as though it just couldn’t be bothered.

Kneeling carefully, Geralt reached out one leather-gloved hand and carefully, oh so carefully, brushed the ashfall away.

His eyes hadn’t deceived him.

There beneath the ash was a single, bright yellow bloom.

A buttercup.

Geralt nearly wept.

It was a sign. It had to be. What else could it be?

He brushed the ash away further, revealing more of the little yellow blooms, surrounded by lush green grass.

Not dead, just hidden.

His movements became more frantic, moving away ash until he had a clear visual of what had been hidden beneath. A circle of green grass, teaming with yellow buttercups. The charred remains of a pair of bindings. And almost invisible to even his honed skills as a tracker, footsteps. He cleared away more of the ash in the direction of the footsteps and where they were not visible, the yellow flowers showed the way. A thin line of cheerful yellow through the black fields.

 _It had to be_.

At the edge of the burned camp, the edge of the black field the footsteps and buttercups seemed to vanish, though they pointed north.

North. Verden? Brokilon? _Kerack_? Was Jaskier headed back to Lettenhove?

He felt a split of indecision. There was a pain of longing to follow, but he’d left Ciri and Yennefer alone for nearly a week and it still wasn’t _safe_. It would be a hard ride to White Orchard, to Temeria from Cintra. He’d have to skirt around Brokilon and the Owl Hills. He looked down at the last of the yellow buttercups and reached out to pluck it.

It would add a few days, but he couldn’t leave it like this. This ambiguity, this hint, this hope. It wasn’t enough.

He mounted Roach and looked down at the buttercup in his hand before tucking it under the strap of his swords, against his chest.

He rode north.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boscage doesn't actually have lyrics, so the lyrics referenced here are from Dragonland's [Lady of Goldenwood](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SXhda7Z5DwI). I googled for poetry/lyrics randomly to try to find something that fit and that is how I spent an entire weekend listening to Swedish fantasy metal.
> 
> Turtle Dreams was a wall. I stared at it for a solid hour before someone suggested using the color theme of the level. Each level in Tetris Effect has three progressions, right? As you clear lines every third progresses you to a new part. So Turtle Dreams starts green, turns blue, finishes on red. I'm actually really happy with how it came out even though I was trying to avoid doing another dream sequence.
> 
> The black petticoat is a nod to TURN which I marathon watched earlier this year. I enjoyed it. Learned about the Revolutionary War I didn't know previously because of course I have to look up everything.


	5. PART FIVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Depiction of a panic attack near the very end of the chapter.

Sunset Breeze | Moments

After the hard ride to Cintra to find the truth, to _know_ , Geralt was oddly calm as he made the trek northwards. Riding through Verden was strangely serene, though he was moving at a good clip; not pushing Roach too hard but covering as much ground as possible. His only regret and pang of concern came from not being able to get word to Yen and Ciri. They’d discussed a Xenovox, but ultimately decided against it. Yennefer had been limiting her magic usage, traceable as it was, and a Xenovox, though dead useful, was not very common and there was potential for the magic that it contained to be detected. Perhaps not much, but enough to be of concern.

It was quiet too. Not just audible sound, but a lack of monsters. Not something Geralt usually celebrated when traveling, lack of contracts meant lack of coin, but in this case he made good time traversing the small kingdom of Verden as he headed northward. He’d tried to subtly enquire about his wayward bard, but the most he received was a shrug and mention of road-weary travelers passing through. Something that had been common ever since Cintra had fallen and Nilfgaard had marched through the lands. Just as in Brugge the people here were in good spirits over the burned war camp, taverns still full of impromptu celebrations even days later.

Without the choking ash in the air the ride north was alive with noise and color. The sun was setting as he rode through Lettenhove, heading straight toward the estate. The sky was ablaze with a spectrum of reds and oranges as the sun sank to the west, the immaculate home a dark silhouette. Not imposing or frightening, just a sight to behold. Striking and poetic.

Geralt momentarily wondered why Jaskier didn’t speak more of his home.

The guards seemed cheered, though confused, by his arrival and ushered him in without issue. Karolina met him at the front door looking slightly frazzled to see him.

“What are you _doing_ here?” She bemoaned, clutching at his armor, her eyes wide and a touch wild.

Geralt looked at her in confusion.

“What do you mean? Isn’t he here? Is Jaskier here?”

“He just _left_ ,” she practically cried. “He looked _awful_ , Geralt, barely rested before he took off. Said he needed to find _you_.”

“Ah, _fuck_ ,” turned his head to the side as he cursed, his eyes slipping closed, but a smile on the face all the same.

Jaskier had been here. He was alive.

He was _alive_.

“He was here though? He’s okay?” This time it was Geralt carefully gripping at Karolina’s shoulders as he beseeched her for information.

She smiled, that wide familiar grin, and nodded, tears slipping out of her eyes and down her cheeks. Not sadness nor pain, no. Tears of joy. Relief.

Geralt felt he could have cried too if he’d been able. The sting of his eyes implied he still might.

“Come inside,” she relied, tugging on him. “It’s late, and you look like you could use a good night’s rest.”

She wasn’t wrong. It had been non-stop from Brugge to Cintra and Cintra to Lettenhove. A rest would be good and Roach deserved it.

He nodded and allowed himself to be pulled inside, briefly divesting his armor and gear in the guest room they’d previously used during the White Night festival before meeting her in a small sitting room where dinner was set out.

It was mouthwatering as soon as he could smell it and he realized how famished he was from the short meals and rests he’d been taking in his travels.

He thanked her for her hospitality and ate as she told him all she knew.

“He rode in here not a week ago, hair everywhere and the most terrible beard on his face. He was exhausted and limping, Geralt, bleeding and bruised and…he’d been burned,” her voice pitched low. “I heard about the camp. What happened at Cintra. Was he…was it?”

“I…know he’d been caught by them,” Geralt said carefully, not making eye contact with her. “I don’t know how he escaped or how he was involved with the fire, if he was at all.”

She nodded and was quiet.

“Was he…you said he was burned? How badly was he hurt?” He asked somewhat hesitantly.

“He insisted it was nothing, that it was healing. He looked so tired, sore. The burns…I don’t know. It was almost as though he’d spent too much time in the sun, really,” her nose scrunched as she said it. “Thin, far too thin. He’s …he didn’t tell me half of what _really_ happened, did he? He just said it had been a hard season and quite a chase. Said not to worry because the ones who did it looked far worse.”

Geralt couldn’t help it, he snorted at that. Trust Jaskier to twist the tale so as not to worry his sister without actually telling a lie. Ash wasn’t much to look at after all.

“That’s a bit of an understatement,” he admitted. He reached out and lay a hand over hers and to his pleasure she didn’t flinch away, only looked up and met his gaze squarely with blue eyes that were simultaneously foreign and familiar to him. “Nilfgaard…Nilfgaard has been after Jaskier for a while. He’s clever though, so godsdamned clever. He’s run them across the entire continent, always a step ahead.”

She smiled, a small thing, before frowning in concern and realization.

“But they caught up to him.”

Geralt’s breath stuttered even as he nodded.

“But he escaped. You saw it for yourself. He’s stronger than they gave him credit for,” he pulled his hand back and averted his gaze, his next words so low they were barely audible. “Stronger than _I_ gave him credit for.”

She made a noise and he looked back to her quickly, unsurprised to see her wiping tears from her face frantically.

“I’m sorry, please, don’t mind me. I’m a mess,” she continued to wipe the tears away even as she rose from her seat. “Come, you must be exhausted after your trip and I’ve kept you up.”

She walked with him up to the guest room and then to his immense surprise reached up and pressed a brief kiss to cheek.

“Thank you,” she said earnestly, her eyes bright once more with tears.

“For what?” he wondered honestly.

She shook her head, another small smile there even as the first few tears began to escape.

“You _saved_ him.”

Geralt was confused.

“He saved himself.”

She shook her more decisively this time.

“No, Geralt. You don’t understand. _You_ saved him.”

Before he could protest she swept away.

He reached one hand to the spot on his cheek where she’d kissed him and closed his eyes, taking a breath to calm his turbulent emotions.

That scent.

Fir and sea wind with a hint of wildflowers.

He turned his head to the room he remembered from his previous visit as Jaskier’s. Even from this far down the hall he could tell the door was wide open. It was practically an invitation.

Glancing down the other direction to make sure Karolina nor anyone else was around Geralt slipped down the hall and into the open room.

Jaskier had certainly been there and recently. His scent was strong, fresh. But there was a bitter tang of ash and pain still lingering. The coppery hint of blood. The desk had been cleaned off of the chaotic stack of notes and poems, but there was an envelope dead center, crisp and clean and addressed in an elegant hand.

_Geralt_ it read simply.

Fondness, disbelief, joy, curiosity – they all warred within him as he stepped closer and picked up the envelope. It didn’t change, it was still his name written in Jaskier’s hand across it.

There was a loud creak that startled him and he looked around the room frantically for a second, immediately on guard, before realizing it was just the house settling. He slipped from the room silently, letter clutched in his hand and made his way back to the guest room. With the door safely closed behind him he broke the wax seal on the back (the lark clutching a flower, same as the gates around the estate) and unfolded the letter. His eyes skimmed the flowing hand greedily, proof of Jaskier’s enduring survival, before settling on the top and beginning to read.

_Geralt,_

_You scamp! Word has it you’ve been following me!  
I am sorry for that, truly. Until only recently I-  
No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the false niceties. You wouldn’t care for them anyway, would you my friend? And since it’s not like you’ll ever get this, I’m going to tell you the truth._

_The truth is, I’ve been running. I’ve been running for a long time I think. At first I was running from you, from that godsdamned mountain. I was…hurt. But you were hurting too and I…well I certainly wasn’t helping, was I? And then Nilfgaard and Cintra and suddenly I was running again. They thought I’d know where you were, how to find you. Even if I had known anything I wouldn’t have told them. I hope you know that. You do, don’t you? Despite everything, I would never betray you like that. I may have misdirected them slightly and gotten rather lucky when they thought I’d be but a humble bard and not one to be concerned with – remind me to thank you for that lesson in picking locks. As a result, I managed to pick up some rather juicy information and made an agreement. I shan’t bore you with the details, but hopefully it made your life easier._

_Gods, please tell me it made your life easier and wasn’t for naught._

_I digress. Apologies, seems even in writing I’ve too much to say and can’t keep myself on track. Part of the arrangement I made guaranteed a safe winter at least. Lyria. A rather uneventful court posting, all things considered. Decent ale though, I’ll give them that. I dreamt of the coast all winter. Of water and waves and swimming and sun. I don’t know why I just wrote that. I feel rather foolish now, but I am but a fool, aren’t I? As soon as spring arrived I was running again though, and this is truly the crux of the matter: I owe you my thanks, and my life. I’ve used every trick I’ve ever learned from our time together. Even found myself a good horse, if you can believe it. At long last. Pegasus. She’s been…well, I’m lucky to have found her. I’ve been lucky a lot it seems._

_I dreamt of you. I think. I’m not sure anymore. I was so exhausted I was either dreaming whilst awake or hallucinating from exhaustion. I thought you were really there. You looked so relieved to see me. I’d been foolish again though, you always warn me not to make so much noise, but I thought one song wouldn’t hurt. And the acoustics were so lovely, the way the music echoed off the walls of the canyon trail. I had to run, that night. Still half asleep and under the stars._

_I’ve been so tired, Geralt. So tired of running, of hiding. I hadn’t even been traveling by road, following the wildlife trails through the woods to cover my tracks. But it caught up to me. I made a mistake. I went into a village, thinking one night at their tiny inn wouldn’t hurt and the stableman was so friendly and welcoming._

_I should have known better. You would have seen through the ruse instantly, wouldn’t you have? He meant to keep the horse, but she bucked away and ran as soon as I was knocked out, or so I heard. She found me again…well. I’m getting ahead of myself. I woke up in chains in Nilfgaard’s occupation camp outside of Cintra._

_The city, it. It’s gone, Geralt. Nothing but ruins. I’d heard of course, how could I have not? But to see it. Calanthe didn’t deserve it. Cintra didn’t deserve it. Did you find her, I wonder? Your child surprise. Did you know it was a girl? A princess. I hope you did. I hope she’s safe with you._

_Nilfgaard was not kind, but in all honestly, it could have been worse. It_ should _have been worse. They didn’t ask me about you this time. They never even mentioned you. They kept saying they were going to use me, that I belonged to the Emperor now, but they never said for what. They were…cruel. But nothing that hasn’t healed or at least is well on its way to healing. I’m okay, just as I promised._

_And then, I got lucky again. Never thought I’d say it, but I’m almost tired of being lucky. I’m just so tired, Geralt. The camp burned. I –_

There was a large splatter of ink and what could only be a smattering of tears before the letter resumed.

_The camp burned. That’s all there is to say about it. Pegasus, gods bless her, found me after I escaped in the madness. We rode north, here to Lettenhove._

_You can imagine my surprise when my sister mentioned you’d been through the previous season and enjoyed White Night without me. Did they tell you about the previous year? The bards who’d come into town couldn’t hold a candle to me, so I played the entirety of White Night, all day and night, and slept so solidly afterwards my sister feared I’d never wake again. She pretends she’s the less dramatic of the two of us, but don’t let her fool you._

_But it was her words that made me realize that I have to find you, if only to set your mind at ease. I’m setting out first thing, back to the beginning. Will you find me there, I wonder?_

_I’ll be waiting._

_Yours forever._

It wasn’t signed, but it didn’t need to be. Geralt re-read the letter by the light of the moon shining in through the window and then a third time.

Soon. Soon, they would be reunited and Jaskier would be safe and they could stop _running_ and-

And just breathe for a moment.

==

Aurora Peaks | Snows

Geralt wasn’t thrilled with the fact that Yennefer and Ciri weren’t in White Orchard when he arrived a week later, but to his immense relief a baker in the village with a vase of buttercups on his counter had information on where they’d gone.

“Aye, I remember seeing them. The dark haired lass was taking her sister to the temple it sounded like? Good for ‘em. Melitele knows we could do with more healers, especially with Nilfgaard tearing through the south.”

“You haven’t heard then,” Geralt remarked casually as the baker wrapped a loaf of bread for him.

“Heard what, witcher?”

“Nilfgaard’s main war camp in Cintra went up in flames, not two weeks ago.”

The baker stared at him stunned for a moment before his face split into a broad grin and laughter erupted from him.

“Then Melitele has truly blessed us all. First Sodden now Cintra. Seems they find themselves burned wherever they go.”

“Hmm.”

“Here, witcher, on me. For the good news.”

The baker wrapped a honey cake with the bread and handed the small sack over to him.

Geralt nodded his thanks before departing to retrieve roach. At a brisk pace he could be in Ellander in a day or two.

Or three, thanks to the pouring rain making the road slick with heavy mud. The deluge of rain was coupled with fierce winds and an unseasonable summer chill, the kind that felt like winter was days away rather than a few months yet.

Still, it ended up cold enough that flakes of snow did fall amongst the frigid rain, melting away immediately as they hit the ground. Almost as if in mockery, the wind and rain (and hint of snow) gave way to a crystal clear morning without a cloud in sight. The sun rose a brilliant orange that warmed him all the way through.

The Temple of Melitele was his first stop, not even bothering to enter Ellander proper before heading straight there and he was met, unsurprisingly, by Nenneke before he stepped foot inside.

“I should have known,” the motherly priestess remarked as his feet hit the ground. “It’s always you. Why is it always you?”

Geralt shrugged, the words out of his mouth shocking Nenneke and himself equally.

“Destiny is funny like that, I suppose.”

Nenneke stared at him for a moment before his eyes narrowed. In a second, she’d drawn a knife from _who even knew where_ and pressed the flat of it against the bare skin of his neck.

“Hey!” he protested at the sharp blade suddenly so close.

“Hmm,” she hummed, staring him straight in the eye. “Not a Doppler.”

He huffed as she took the knife away and secreted it back onto her person.

“Your girls are inside, but first you’re going to tell me a story,” she informed him without room for argument. He followed her into the temple and began speaking about the recent developments. About Ciri and Yennefer and how they’d all come together before winter. About Vesemir’s research and realization of Jaskier’s nature as a Force. (Nenneke’s eyes had gone wide but she didn’t interrupt.) He told her about their search for him in the spring, always one step behind. About the spring and new growth in the dead lands. He spoke of Nilgaard chasing down bards.

He continued to speak, about returning to Kaer Morhen empty handed and the strange dreams. Of Oxenfurt and Novigrad and clues. He told her about dreaming through his eyes. The fire that razed the Nilfgaard camp to the ground. About ash and buttercups and a letter that was for him.

He told her that Jaskier was alive.

She hummed thoughtfully as he finished, her eyes a bit brighter than usual.

“I always knew that boy was trouble, from the moment you brought him here,” though her tone was fond as she said it. “I never realized…” She turned to face him and jabbed a finger into his chest. “ _You_ have been blessed. Not once, nor twice, but _three_ times over. Your child, your sorceress, your bard. Few are so lucky to find such love and devotion with one.”

Geralt grunted.

“Now, now. Your girls are in the greenhouse, and the sooner you gather them the sooner you can be on your way. Seems you have a bard to find. Besides, I’ve enough trouble about without you adding to it.”

He frowned, fully intent on asking what she meant when a blonde blur tackled him around the middle.

“Geralt!”

Yennefer followed in Ciri’s path at a more sedate pace, her expression one of amusement and open curiosity.

“Geralt, you look well,” she said, making a show of looking over his mud-splattered form. She frowned as she looked around him. “And alone.”

“He’s alive.”

The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them and he felt Ciri’s arm tighten as she gasped in happy surprise. Yennefer’s face went through a series of minute emotions rapidly, from surprised to joyful to resigned.

“You lost him again,” she realized.

Geralt shook his head adamantly.

“No, he was in Lettenhove, just a few days before I was. He left a letter. Said he was going back to the beginning.”

“Where is that?” Ciri asked, tilting her head back to look up at him.

“This whole mess started with Borch, we’re going to Caingorn.”

Ciri looked delighted.

“The _dragon_?” She asked, having heard the stories.

“Hmm.”

Geralt would be the first to admit he didn’t particularly want to head that far north and back to the Dragon Mountains. Those few days had been a shit show of epic proportions, from Borch’s well-intentioned meddling, to the way he reacted to Yennefer’s desire to be a mother, to the dwarves and Reavers, to being oblivious to Jaskier’s feelings. His words to them both had only been the icing on top of a series of terrible events.

He still regretted agreeing to join Borch that day in the Pensive Dragon.

Regretted not turning back when they had the chance.

Regretted not going to the coast.

But it was too late for regrets. He could only move forward from this point. Lost in his laments and memories, he didn’t catch Yennefer’s thoughtful expression.

“Caingorn? The mountains?” She asked, breaking him from his reverie. He looked at her and nodded. “You’re sure?”

“It’s where everything started, where everything went downhill,” he affirmed, now frowning at her. “Why?”

She shook her head slowly.

“That doesn’t seem right. If anything, Caingorn was the end of something,” her eyes flickered to meet his again and her lips thinned out. “The end of many things. But it doesn’t particularly feel like a beginning.”

“How did you and Jaskier become friends?” Ciri asked, still wrapped around his waist, not minding the mud in the slightest, and looking up at him.

“We’re not-”

“ _Geralt_ ,” Yennefer and Ciri both warned before he could finish, Ciri’s arms squeezing fractionally before releasing and she stepped away from him.

He sighed and rubbed a gloved hand (still muddy, he really ought to take care of that) over his face.

“He was performing. Asked for a review. Followed me around after that.”

Yennefer scoffed at the poor retelling but Ciri continued to needle him.

“Where did you go?”

“The farmers said a devil had been stealing their grain, I went to look into it and-”

“No,” she cut in, shaking her head. “No, sorry, that’s not what I meant. Where were you? Where did you meet when he started to follow- started to travel with you?”

Geralt looked down at her in momentary confusion before he realized what she was asking.

“ _Posada_.”

“Posada?” Yennefer repeated. “Dol Blothanna? The Edge of the World?”

“Oh!” Ciri made delighted sound. “That’s what the song is about! _Toss a Coin_ , it’s about how you met!”

Geralt groaned and Yennefer couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her. Her violet eyes were gleaming as she looked at Geralt.

“That makes more sense than Caingorn.”

“And it’s closer,” Ciri said with a shrug. “Follow the Pontar into Aedirn until it splits? Besides, I’ve read Posada’s architecture is quite interesting.”

Geralt hummed and Yennefer nodded.

“All right,” Geralt agreed, looking between them. “We’ll head for Posada. If we don’t find him there, you start heading toward the Blue Mountains.”

“So early?” Yennefer asked, one eyebrow arching in surprise even as Geralt nodded.

“I don’t want you to risk the trail at the end of the season if I’m not there to guide you.”

“And where will you be?” she pressed.

“I’m not losing him, Yen,” he stated firmly. “If he’s not in Posada I’ll head to Caingorn.”

“And if he’s not in Caingorn?”

“I’ll find him,” he snarled.

“All right,” she relented. “If he’s not in Posada, we’ll head to Kaedwen and find Vesemir.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ciri cut in and the both turned to look at her. She continued on very matter-of-fact. “It doesn’t matter, because we’re going to find him in Posada.”

It was at this moment Ciri wrinkled her nose as if she just realized how covered in mud and muck Geralt was.

“Can we at least get a bath though before we go?”

Yennefer dissolved into laughter and Geralt could only shake his head as he smiled.

Still, after the weeks of non-stop travel the bath was a welcome respite, even if Nenneke huffed at him when he asked. They spent the night at the temple before departing in the morning, following the Pontar just as Ciri suggested. They made camp just before the Aedirnian border, outside the village of Flotsam. Though Yennefer grumbled at not sleeping in an inn when one was so close, even she couldn’t help but be glad they hadn’t.

The sky that night was _spectacular_. Lit with a wash of green and blue, dancing to a song none of them could hear. Ciri’s expression was one of awe and wonder.

“What is it?”

“An aurora,” Yennefer explained. “It’s caused by the sun. It’s rare to see one this time of year.”

“Rarer still to see one this far south,” Geralt added. “Kaer Morhen sees them from time to time.”

“It’s amazing, it looks like they’re dancing,” Ciri breathed, gaze transfixed.

She practically had to be bullied into her bedroll, and even then they couldn’t stop her from laying on her back, watching the aurora arcing across the sky above them.

Yennefer sat down beside Geralt, the fire burned low and gave them a clear view of the light still dancing above them.

“It’s rather peculiar isn’t it. Do they look like they’re moving eastward?”

Geralt grunted, but he’d had the same thought.

“Do you suppose it’s related? Could our little Force be showing us the way?”

“At this point I would welcome it. If he’s not in Posada,” Geralt sighed, trailing off.

“He’ll be there,” Yennefer said simply, laying a hand on his arm and leaning in beside him as they both continued to watch the sky. “He will.”

“How do you know?”

“Ciri said so,” came the prompt rely.

A bark of laughter escaped him.

“Well, if Ciri insists.”

“I do,” came the sleepy murmur from the other side of the dim fire.

“Go to sleep,” Geralt and Yennefer spoke in unison.

An ambivalent hum was all they received in return.

“He’ll be there,” Yennefer repeated, patting his arm and standing, moving to curl up with Ciri and her own bedroll.

Geralt continued to watch the aurora blaze blue and green and dance eastward across the sky.

==

Zen Blossoms | Unfold

It was marshy, where the Dyfne split from the Yaruga into Aedirn. To the south was Vengerberg, though it was nowhere on their road.

“What’s Vengerberg like?” Ciri asked twisting in the saddle to peer up at Yennefer behind her.

“It was once very rich. Lots of people in the city, though not as many as Novigrad.”

“And you grew up there?” She continued. “You were from Vengerberg, before going to Court at Aedirn?”

Yennefer shook her head.

“Outside of the city, on a pig farm. I don’t believe it’s even there anymore.”

“Not too close to the water,” Geralt interrupted to warn. “You won’t like what lives in the swamps.”

“Really?” Ciri asked, looking back at him incredulously. “But it’s so…pretty?”

Geralt hummed, but she wasn’t wrong. Monster infested swamps were often dark and dirty places. This one had lily pads sitting on the surface and all sorts of plant life growing in and around it. It looked more like a garden than a swamp.

“Seems the sort of the thing Jaskier would concoct, isn’t it?” Yennefer asked, though she was looking at the flowers with a smile on her face, following a dragonfly darting about.

“What do you mean?” Geralt grunted in reply.

“A dark dangerous swamp, painted instead as a beautiful garden. A kikimora beneath the surface, but all he sees are lily and lotus.”

“And hornwort and featherfoil,” Ciri pointed out. “And …salvinia?”

“Very good,” Yennefer praised. “You’ve been paying attention.”

Ciri beamed under the compliment. “Oh!” Her surprised sound caught their attention and they followed her gaze. “I think it _is_ a garden?”

Set back from the road and built slightly over the wetland was a small gazebo. Its maintenance and the carefully cleared cobblestone trail leading to it implied it was an oft used and loved spot.

It had been some years but Geralt didn’t remember the road to Posada being quite this…peaceful. Nor this colorful. He remembered the farm fields and the sun beating down. The dryness of late summer, and the dusty roads. He didn’t remember quite so many flowers, nor ponds full again of lily and lotus. At night the fireflies dancing around the water’s surface only to served to make it appear magical.

“Were you serious?” Geralt asked as they made camp along the road, till a few days travel to the Edge of the World.

“You’ll have to be more specific, Geralt,” Yennefer returned, untacking Aster for the night.

“I don’t remember this road being so peaceful, so colorful. Do you think Jaskier had a hand in it? Intentionally or not?”

Yennefer paused and turned to him, her eye bright.

“I think,” she said slowly as if carefully forming her words, “that our understanding of whatever power Jaskier has is only _beginning_ to unfold.

“We thought as a Force he could only affect what happened near him, but that’s not quite right is it? He pushes and pulls things and people toward and away from him in equal measure. He reflects things back on those who need to see it. He’s a catalyst. He’s the drop in the pond that starts the ripples. The beat of a butterfly’s wings that causes a storm.

“I can’t explain it, Geralt. I doubt anyone can. Jaskier just _is_ and when he wills the world to move, it _moves_. But it doesn’t always make sense, does it? It looks like good luck, bad luck, and coincidence. But for all that, it never seems impossible, never seems unreal.

“I don’t know if this Jaskier’s doing. It might be. It might not. What I do know is that no matter _how_ it came to be, it’s _real_. More so than any illusion or magic trick or wish.”

“How do you know it’s real?”

“Because it’s balanced. One of the first lessons at Aretuza is that controlling Chaos requires balance and control, but Chaos is already balanced. Order is the counter to Chaos. Jaskier’s powers, whether he knows it or not, are incredible. Yet he walks the earth humbly.”

Geralt couldn’t help but snort and Yennefer tossed him a smile.

“Point made, perhaps not _humbly_ , but he has no ancient magic, he’s no mage, he’s not a mutant. If Vesemir had never said anything, had never pointed it out, would you ever realized how much Jaskier has accomplished as a mere human?”

Geralt hummed.

“I think that’s exactly why Destiny chose him,” Yennefer continued, feeling Geralt’s keen gaze on her as she voice her thoughts. “If I had that power,” she clenched and unclenched her hands in her lap. “I can’t deny I’d be selfish with it. What other Destiny matters than my own and forming it the way I see fit?”

“But Jaskier chose me,” Geralt acknowledged, his voice pitched low. “chose to walk my path.”

“Don’t sound so distraught, doing so served him well too. He’s famous in his own right and dare I admit quite talented, but he could have found his fame and fortune elsewhere and instead followed you to the Edge of the World. Literally and figuratively speaking.”

“I shunned Destiny for so long it finally dropped itself into my lap to get me to realize it,” Geralt admitted with some chagrin. “Prophecies and predictions, stories and songs. Order amongst the Chaos. It never could be just Chaos, could it? That would be-”

“Madness,” Yennefer concluded. “So would too much Order. But together-”

“Balance,” Geralt affirmed.

“He does, you know,” Yennefer added sometime later, after camp had been made, horses cared for, and food eaten.

“Hmm?”

“He balances you. Where you’re reserved, he’s passion. Where you’re quiet, he’s loud. He’s a rainbow of colors against your black and gray. A song to your silence. Balanced.”

“Hmm.”

Yennefer fell asleep and Geralt tried. Tried to sleep but tossed and turned, tried to meditate but couldn’t clear his mind. Ensuring the camp was safe he finally stretched and rose, the sky dark overhead, dotted only by a few bright stars. His feet led him to the stream they’d found nearby, flowing out of a small murky pond. Like the earlier marsh it was an unexpected riot of flowers, lotus and lily pad floating on the surface, swaying on the ripples of the water.

Geralt felt as though the small ripples could knock him clear off his feet. For all the talk of balance, it had left him feeling decidedly off-balanced.

Tomorrow they would ride into Posada. Where it all started. Where Jaskier was waiting. How would he look? What would he say? What would Geralt say?

Would the bard be as fiery and feral and full of passion and color and life as he always had been? Would they still balance now that Geralt no longer felt as cold and colorless as he once had?

And Yennefer and Ciri. They were part of Geralt’s life too. Yennefer and Jaskier had always had a strange relationship, but it was inevitable now if Jaskier’s path with Geralt was entwined, so too was it with Yennefer.

And Ciri, who’d come to love and care for the bard through stories and tales despite never having met him. As far as Geralt knew Jaskier had never voiced a desire for nor against having children. How would he take to suddenly having one in his life?

_It’s all connected_

Those had been Jaskier’s own words, hadn’t they?

_We’re all together in this love_

Something is missing, Vesemir had said, when he’d lain his eyes on them as they arrived at Kaer Morhen. But not something, some _one_.

Sitting beside the pond with a world-weary sigh, Geralt finally examined what was missing. It had been so obvious, there really had been no point in denying it, was there?

It was Jaskier.

It had always been Jaskier.

It had been Geralt, and Jaskier, and Yennefer, and Ciri.

_I could lead you home, just follow me_

And he had, hadn’t he?

Geralt and Jaskier and Yennefer and Ciri.

Home. Together. Family.

Tomorrow, they would be reunited.

Tomorrow, they would be together.

Tomorrow, they would all be home.

_Don’t you forget it_   
_We’re all connected in this love_

Somewhere in the afterlife, Geralt just knew Mousesack was laughing at him.

Smiling softly as he made his way back to camp Geralt paused to check on Ciri and Yennefer, both asleep peacefully. He moved to his own bedroll and debated meditation before laying down. He’d barely closed his eyes before he too joined them in peaceful slumber.

Posada might change everything. It might change nothing at all. Either way, Geralt no longer felt so off-balance.

Around him, the fireflies continued to dance.

==

Yin & Yang | Chains

The sun was up over the horizon as they followed the road into Posada, Ciri marveling at the vertical buildings of the village.

“But _why_? It seems so…” Her lower lip caught between her teeth as she struggled with an apt description of the curious architecture. “Silly,” she finally settled on as they stopped to dismount the horses.

“Smart,” Yennefer suggested with a teasing smile. “Less room taken up by buildings means more land to farm. It’s actually rather ingenious.”

“Hmm.”

They led the horses to the stable and Geralt could feel his slow beating heart stutter at the sight of the horse already in a stall. He had never seen the dapple gray mare in his life but he _had_ , twice before in dreams that hadn’t been dreams.

Pegasus. Jaskier’s horse.

Jaskier was _here_.

Geralt couldn’t help but stare, even as he led Roach to one of the open stalls and began untacking her. She noticed his inattention and swung her head into his chest with a whinny.

“Roach,” he admonished. “I’m not replacing you. You’ll be riding beside her, I hope.”

She seemed to understand, for she settled after his words and helped herself to the oats in the stall. Geralt gave her an affection pat and while Yennefer and Ciri finished putting Aster into his stall moved to the dapple gray mare.

“Hello, Pegasus,” he greeted. The animal turned as if to look at him, and dismissed him just as easily. He moved carefully to her face to stroke her nose, her ears flicked at the attention, but she ducked into the stroking, clearly enjoying the attention.

“You know this horse?” Ciri asked, leaning over to look at her.

“No. Yes.”

“Well, which is it?” Ciri asked with a laugh and delighted grin.

Geralt returned it, albeit with more reservation.

“This is Pegasus, Jaskier’s horse.”

At the mention of her name the mare jerked her head as if to nod in agreement.

Yennefer’s eyes were wide with surprise, as she looked between him and the horse.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive,” he grunted, petting her nose once more.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” She asked. “Let’s step into the tavern and have you reunited with your bonnie bard.”

Geralt exhaled through his nose but didn’t try to refute her, having long grown used to the teasing.

With the horses safely taken care of, they crossed the narrow bridge to the vertical village and entered the tavern, full of famers as ever. It was painfully nostalgic how little the small spot had changed. There was a fire burning in the hearth, though the corner Jaskier had been performing in those decades ago was empty, the tavern quiet.

Geralt felt a pang of despondency at that. If Jaskier was here there should’ve been music in the air, patrons singing along and stamping their feet to the tune.

Then again, the first time Geralt had seen Jaskier play in Posada he’d been booed into silence, gathering the bread thrown at him before approaching.

Ushering Ciri and Yen to a table (and _gods_ was it really possible this was the same corner he’d been in? The very same bench and table?) he waved down a serving girl with a tray of drinks.

“Can I help you?”

“Ale,” he said shortly, looking at the two women.

“Ale is fine,” Yennefer agreed, turning her nose up slightly. It was unlikely the farming hamlet would have anything of her usual fair.

“And a small beer?” the girl asked with a smile at Ciri who nodded in agreement.

They were quiet until she returned, her tray laden again.

“Have you had any travelers through?”

“Not much reason to come all the way up to Posada unless you’re here to buy grain,” she laughed with a shake of her head. “But there was a fellow arrived just a few days ago. Came on a lovely mare and has been roaming about. I think he might be an artist? Not sure. He’s been in here a time or two, always looking sad.” She leaned in and whispered conspiratorially. “Between you and me I imagine he’s heartbroken. Those types always do seem to take it harder than the rest of us. Why, when I found out that Grisol had been secretly seeing Ena I didn’t shed a tear. I-”

“Soup?” Yennefer cut in, looking unamused and uninterested in the girl’s tale. “Bread? Anything to eat to go with the ale?”

The girl looked slightly surprised by nodded again.

“Sure, there’s some bread and fruit, some dried meat if it pleases?”

Geralt nodded with a hum.

“That will do, thank you,” Yennefer agreed punctuating her words. The serving girl quickly left, her scoff and muttering about _rude_ audible to the witcher as he watched her go. He fixed a look at Yennefer and tilted his head even as she quirked an eyebrow in question.

“What?”

“Was that necessary?” he inquired.

“Did you particularly want to hear her surely thrilling tale of love and revenge?”

“No,” he replied shortly. “But she may have been able to tell us more about Jaskier.”

Yennefer snorted in response.

“Posada’s not exactly the bustling streets of Novigrad, I’m sure we’ll locate your bardling in short order.”

They didn’t. Not at the inn above the tavern, not walking around the fields and dusty roads that surrounded the village, not in the stables. Pegasus looked freshly brushed and had a new bucket of oats by the time they’d returned to check but still no sign of the bard.

Geralt was reluctant to turn in at the inn as the sunset, pacing the small room with frustration.

“He’s _here_ , how have we not found him?”

“You did say you’d never met his horse, it might not belong to him.”

“Sure, after all this it’s just a coincidence that a horse that looks like Pegasus is stabled where we met and the tavern has a lovesick artist lingering about?”

Yennefer shrugged but her expression said she didn’t think it was coincidence either.

There was still no sign of Jaskier the following morning, though Geralt managed to distract himself with a few hands of Gwent, earning a few extra coin for his wins. Though they farmers grumbled as they handed over the spoils it was grumbling at their loss rather than their losses to _a witcher_.

As the sun climbed into the sky without a sign of Jaskier at the little tavern Geralt instead opted to retrace his steps up the road to where he’d sought the Devil of Posada once so long so. He doubted the sylvan or elves were still there in the hills, not if word of Filavandrel and the elves recent uprisings in Cintra was to be believed. He stopped on a bend high up on the hillside that overlooked the curious vertical village buildings dotting the landscape.

Looking around the greenery and yellow flowers he could almost hear Jaskier’s declaration.

“ _I could be your barker! Spreading the tales of Geralt of Rivia; the- the Butcher of Blaviken!”_

A small smile crossed his face at the memory, though it turned into a frown, the two feelings warring at him. Fondness and regret.

He’d punched Jaskier for it. Knocked him clear off his feet and still the young bard had insisted on following. And following. And following. Until one day it had ceased to be a surprise that the other man was there and instead had become a regular fixture of his life, as certain as Roach by his side or his swords on back. Not following, not really. Walking beside him.

The hills around the village were empty, no signs of Jaskier, nor any elves nor a sylvan. Yennefer shook her head when he returned to the tavern after checking the stables.

Someone had been taking care of Pegasus, and Roach was eating what was clearly an apple. No stranger would feed another’s horse so blatantly. Jaskier was _here_ , he had no doubt. He could feel it as surely as he could feel his armor on his skin and the earth beneath his feet.

And yet, it felt like they were dancing around each other. Just as Mousesack had described Calanthe and Eist as two ships gliding past each other in the night, Geralt and Jaskier were circling like the moon around their sphere. Never touching, but always near.

No, that wasn’t quite right, Geralt realized. They were on a collision course, of this he was certain. They always had been. Drawn together, pushed apart, reunited, separated. There was a natural push and pull between them, but this time, _this time_ it was going to be different.

This time Geralt wasn’t going to let go.

He just had to wait for the collision.

Geralt allowed the farmers to goad him into a few more games of Gwent, even as the tavern emptied and Yennefer took Ciri back to their room, an unreadable look on her face.

He was staring at his cup, nearly empty when soft footsteps approached. Geralt readied himself to promise the barmaid he’d clear out as soon as he was finished when an achingly familiar voice spoke softly to him.

“I still love the way you sit in the corner and brood.”

Geralt’s eyes were wide with shock and joy as they looked up at a face he’d only seen in dreams for _years_ now.

He opened his mouth, the words on the tip of his tongue, but they lodged in his throat and he couldn’t say them. Couldn’t say _anything_ as he stared and drank in the image of Jaskier standing there, real and _alive_ , in front of him.

His hair was longer, the beard still present but groomed and neat, his eyes sparkled with good humor and a smile tugged softly at his lips. His clothing was bland; neutral and earth-toned and serviceable but not at all the colorful silk the bard usually wore, what he _should_ have been wearing.

He looked tired. He looked world-weary and worn, thin and willowy.

He was beautiful and Geralt just stared. He didn’t realize he’d gotten to his feet until he reached out, but pulled his hand back at the last second.

“ _Jaskier,_ ” he finally breathed.

For a moment, they both just stood there, staring at each other in Posada’s little tavern, lit by fire and candlelight and quiet for the lateness of the hour.

“May I sit?” Jaskier asked, a far cry from their first meeting when he’d helped himself to Geralt’s table.

“ _I’m here to drink alone._ ”

Jaskier had seen right through that lie though, hadn’t he?

“Please,” Geralt croaked, before clearing his throat and trying again. “Please.”

He gestured to the bench opposite even as he sat and caught the barmaid’s eye. Without a word she brought over a refill for him and a fresh cup for Jaskier as he sat.

“No hurry,” she said as she left the cups, and with her smile it felt genuine.

There was a companionable moment of silence, unsurprisingly broken by Jaskier.

“I still feel like I’m dreaming,” he murmured. “You’re here.”

“Since yesterday,” Geralt confirmed. “Your horse, Pegasus. I knew her immediately.”

Jaskier jerked, his eyes wide and he stared at Geralt with something akin to disbelief.

“I was dreaming,” he said, more to himself than to Geralt. “That was a dream.”

“No,” Geralt denied, knowing the moment he was thinking of. “Yes. I-”

Jaskier watched him. The witcher had so much to say but how did one tell their human best friend that they were a force of Destiny in the literal sense of the word? Besides that, Posada might be a nowhere at the Edge of the World, but word traveled fast. Best to keep that secret hidden yet until they were safe.

“I was there, Jaskier. That canyon. I was there.”

Jaskier’s eyes, so blue and unwavering in their gaze, widened at those words and his mouth fell open slightly in shock.

“ _How_?” He implored, but Geralt shook his head, his eyes darting around.

“Not here,” the witcher intoned, his voice low. “But I’ll tell you what I know, as soon as it’s safe.”

That brought a breathy laugh from Jaskier.

“Nowhere is safe, Geralt,” he replied, his expression turning to a frown and brow furrowing in worry. “I’ve been here too long already. I shouldn’t have, but I-”

His voice was so quiet, so small that even with his enhanced senses Geralt nearly missed it.

“I’d hoped.”

Geralt waited a beat, two, then reached his hand across the table not quite touching but close enough to draw the blue gaze back him.

“I found your letter. In Lettenhove.”

Geralt was treated to the rare sight of Jaskier _blushing_ , a pink that crept up his neck, across his face and to the tips of his ears.

“You weren’t meant to read that,” he muttered, glancing away, though there was a smile playing at his mouth.

“It had my name on it,” Geralt argued.

“It was in my _room_ ,” Jaskier sniped back.

“You don’t have to run anymore, Jaskier,” Geralt said instead of admitting he _had_ in fact been poking around the bard’s childhood home.

“And do what, Geralt? Let Ni- _them_ catch me again? Go back to Lett- _home_ and bring them upon my sister and the people? No thank you. I’ll run forever if that’s what it takes.”

“No, Jaskier, listen,” he pleaded quietly. This time when he reached out he caught Jaskier’s hand. The bard looked stunned at the initiated contact. “Come with me. With us. To Kaer Morhen.”

“Kaer Morhen?” the bard repeated in wonder, his eyes still locked on Geralt’s face. Then scrunched in confusion. “Us?”

“Us,” Geralt confirmed. “Me. Yen. Ciri.”

“Yen?” Jaskier repeated, his tone unreadable, then gave way to wonder. “Ciri? …you found her. Your child surprise.”

Geralt nodded. “It’s a long story.”

“I can imagine,” Jaskier nodded. “It’s been some time. I’m sure you have many stories.”

But with that comment, Jaskier didn’t press, didn’t ask or demand details. It was a statement, an observation of fact.

“Come with us,” Geralt repeated. Jaskier met his eyes and in that long moment Geralt worried he would decline.

A small nod was his answer, followed by a more firm one.

“Right, yes. Yes,” he moved to stand. “First thing in the morning?”

Geralt nodded, still reeling slightly that things were finally going the right way. Jaskier was here, _alive_ , and in the morning they would leave for Kaer Morhen _together_. It felt…not wrong, not at all. Not even surreal or impossible. Overwhelming perhaps? He’d chased and missed for so long it was just hard to believe.

Jaskier nodded once more in response, and turned as though to leave, but hesitated. He turned back to Geralt with a small smile on his face, his eyes bright despite the obvious exhaustion.

“It really is good to see you, Geralt.”

“You too, Jaskier.”

The bard slipped out quietly after that, Geralt was loathe to let him out of his sight but it was okay now. Jaskier was okay. _Alive_. _Here_.

Geralt returned to the room, as always checking that Yennefer and Ciri were sleeping peacefully before he let himself fall into the unoccupied bed.

He slept more peacefully than he had in ages.

==

Hula Soul | ‘Aumakua

“You’re certainly chipper this morning,” was the first thing Yennefer said as Geralt moved through the small inn room, carefully packing the travel bags.

“He’s here, Yen,” he replied.

“Geralt,” she sighed. “We knew he might not-”

“No,” he cut her off, abandoning what he was doing to grip her shoulders gently. “We spoke last night. He’s _here_ , we’re riding out this morning and he’s coming with us.”

“He’s here?” A third voice, tired but excited, interrupted. They both turned to see Ciri sitting up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “Honest? You found him?”

“I did,” Geralt affirmed, giving her a smile as he released Yennefer to resume packing. “He’s meeting us at the stables.”

Ciri tossed the blankets and furs to the side and scrambled to get up.

“What are we waiting for?” She asked, rushing to grab her own things.

Yennefer laughed. “Breakfast, I think, for one. And we need more rations for the road to Kaer Morhen.”

Ciri seemed to deflate. “Oh.”

“It won’t take long,” she assured the teen.

This seemed to reinvigorate the teen who quickly returned to readying herself for the journey.

“How is he?” Yennefer murmured low as she began putting her own things into her small travel bag.

“Tired,” Geralt replied immediately.

“Helpful,” she scoffed, but it was fond at the same time.

A tap at the door brought a quick breakfast of bread and fruit and cheese, some of which they tucked away for the coming days on the road. The sky was still away in the dusty colors of sunrise as they made their way back across the narrow bridge to the stables on the other side. As they stepped in Yennefer had to look twice at the figure standing beside the gray mare.

“Jaskier?” A head of dark hair snapped around so quickly she almost feared he would hurt himself but couldn’t help but smile to see the familiar face looking back at her. “Finally decided to embrace your age I see,” she couldn’t resist greeting him with a gentle tease.

“Yennefer,” he returned evenly, though his eyes sparkled in good humor. “Still with the old jokes.”

“Some things never age, unlike you.”

“You’re Jaskier?” Ciri piped up, shoving between Geralt and Yennefer to introduce herself. “I’ve heard so much about you! Geralt has been worried sick, we all have!”

“Worried?” he murmured before he got a good look at her. “Gods, you’re the spitting image of your mother.”

Ciri went very, very quiet and very, very still. Her emerald green eyes were wide and only made her look younger as she stared at him.

“You knew my mother?”

Jaskier was quick to shake his head in the negative.

“I only met her a few times, at her betrothal and later at your naming day. After she- after they- …well, Queen Calanthe didn’t welcome me in Cintra after that,” he explained haltingly, but graced her with a dazzling smile despite that. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance though and to see you looking well.”

He gave her a bow that wouldn’t have been out of place at court and she responded delightedly with a giggle and curtsey in return.

“Your horse is lovely,” she commented, stepping beside him as he finished putting the tack on the mare.

“Thank you,” he replied, running a hand over the horse’s flank. “She’s been a great help these many months. I doubt I’d have made it here without her.”

“Pegasus, right?” Ciri confirmed moving to pet the horse who all but preened under the attention. Jaskier made a sound of affirmation. “I’m going to make sure you get a dozen apples, Pegasus. Thank you for bringing Jaskier to us safely.”

The aforementioned bard made a sound almost like choking but when he looked at Ciri it was with a soft smile on his face. The pair continued to make small talk as Geralt and Yennefer finished tacking Roach and Aster.

“Is it true you made it from Lan Exeter to Beauclair in a single season? How is that even possible?”

“It is, and it’s not easy. It took a well-planned route and a lot of sleepless nights and miserable travel days to stay on track.”

“It worked,” Geralt grunted from the next stall over as he led Roach out. “Both Lambert and Eskel reported catching your trail but didn’t think it was possible.”

“Eskel,” Jaskier repeated with confusion. “Lambert? I think I met a Lambert…”

“In Beauclair,” Geralt confirmed. “Another witcher, my brother. We’ve all been looking for you.”

Jaskier looked at him again with the same wide-eyed look of confusion and disbelief.

“But why?”

“Not here,” Yennefer cut in sharply, leading Aster by the reins. “Later, when we’re on the road and no one is around.”

Jaskier looked between them but nodded, bringing Pegasus out behind them.

As they left the stable and mounted the horses they didn’t noticed the dark clad figure leaning against it around the corner, watching them go with an intense, dark expression. He was approached by another in silvery-gray who looked decided neutral as she watched them depart.

“What you’re thinking is treason, Cahir.”

“Is it? Is it treason to want what’s best for the Empire, Fringilla? I’ve seen no sign the bard is anything special, and yet, imagining handing him over to the Emperor, nay, to _Vilgefortz_ , does nothing but bring me anxiety.”

“You and I both, but orders are orders. How can we go against the White Flame who shaped us? Who made us who we are?”

Cahir stood straight, watching the group follow a bend in the road, disappearing from view.

“We can’t. We won’t. Emperor Emhyr said he wanted the Force dead. And that is what he shall get.”

Fringilla looked at him with wide-eyed concern.

“Cahir,” she started but he pushed past her, retrieving his own horse from a post behind the stable.

“I will do my duty.”

She fixed him with a hard look before nodding once and vanishing through a portal.

Cahir mounted his horse and began to follow the others away from Posada, keeping careful distance as he did so. It would do no good to be spotted before the time was right.

He followed them as they travelled along the Dyfne back to where it met the Pontar, nearly losing them when they crossed to head northwards through Kaedwen. It was no secret that the keep of the Wolf Witchers was in the Blue Mountains in Kaedwen, though the exact location remained unknown. Still, Cahir tracked, and he followed and he waited for the right moment.

It presented itself as they drew nearer the Blue Mountains during a rather humorous exchange between the bard and the sorceress.

“Wear it.”

“I’m _attempting_ to blend in and be unmemorable, Yennefer. Are you trying to get me killed?”

“I’m tired of looking at you and seeing an old peasant man, wear it or I’ll divest you of all your garments and you can travel in your smalls. Would that be preferable?”

“Geralt,” Jaskier huffed, turning to the witcher the shimmering green doublet in his hands, the matching pants folded over Yennefer’s arm.

The witcher shrugged.

“There’s been no sign of Nilfgaard in weeks, not since long before we met you in Posada. There’s not much else between here and Kaer Morhen.”

“I think you’ll look lovely in it,” Ciri offered. “You could even sing for us, if you wanted.”

He smiled but shook his head.

“Unmemorable,” he repeated, but relented with a huff. “But if it’ll make you all happy, I’ll wear it.”

He held his hands out for the trousers, stepping behind Pegasus for some privacy to change. He came back out a moment later, shoving the plain traveling clothing he’d been wearing into one of the saddlebags the horse carried.

“Much better,” Yennefer confirmed as he turned back to them in the shimmering green outfit, the doublet unbuttoned as he usually wore it, the deep blue undershirt visible. It made his eyes positively glow. “You almost look like you again, if we do something with your hair and that thing on your face.”

“You are not touching my beard,” Jaskier all but squawked. “I’ve grown rather fond of it.”

“But it makes you look so _old_ ,” she teased.

“Then maybe you should try growing one,” he spluttered in retort. She raised an eyebrow at him.

“What did he mean by that?” Ciri whispered to Geralt who shrugged with a small smile at the banter between the two.

“Jaskier has a way with words, until he doesn’t,” Geralt shook his head. “It’s rather comical.”

_“Like a sexy goose…guzzling._ ”

“Yes,” Yennefer agreed catching the witcher’s comment. “How is your cat on the stove, Jaskier?”

The bard opened his mouth to retort once more, but what came out instead was a choke and a spray of blood as he stumbled forward briefly, glancing up at them before falling to his knees in the dirt.

Through his shoulder, the blood-coated tip of an arrow was visible, the fletching on the end sticking out of his back was black as night.

Ciri screamed. Geralt’s steel sword was immediately in hand. Yennefer moved toward Jaskier first, his hand pressed tight around the arrow where it pierced through, attempting to stem the bleeding.

“I’m okay,” he coughed, frowning as more blood accompanied his words and leaving a bitter tang behind his lips. It brought fourth unpleasant memories that he wasn’t keen to revisit.

“Be quiet. We need to get this out. Ciri!”

The girl, her face as ashen as her hair, quickly joined them dropping to the dirt and looking to Yennefer for direction.

“Do we pull it out?”

“No!” Yennefer and Jaskier both replied forcefully before glancing at each other briefly in a moment of shared amusement that was likely a poor reaction for the current situation.

“No,” Yennefer repeated more calmly. “Pulling out the arrow head will only cause more damage. It looks clean through and doesn’t appear to have hit your lungs. Thank the gods.”

“Lucky,” Jaskier agreed. She gave him a funny look at that.

Geralt growled. “Stay low, and work fast. Something isn’t right here.”

“Right,” Yennefer nodded. “We’ll break the head off and pull the shaft back through. Ciri, you hold him steady.”

The girl nodded and gave Jaskier an apologetic look as she did as asked. The sorceress was swift to break the arrowhead from the shaft before pulling the remaining out. The beautiful green doublet was now soaked with blood. The growing stain was positioned in such a way that had the doublet been worn closed it would have been right over his heart. As it was, it was too close. It was far too close.

Jaskier made a distressed sound, biting on the knuckle of his right hand in an attempt to muffle it as the arrow came free and Yennefer was quick to stem the bleeding.

“You’ll be fine, you overgrown child. A clean through shot will heal in a week so long as you allow it.”

“Shh,” Geralt commanded again. “Nobody shoots a single arrow, stay quiet and stay low.”

“Get that off, I need to see,” Yennefer said and Jaskier couldn’t help but grunt as they slid the bloody garment off, despite the care they took to avoid jostling his wounded shoulder.

There was a rustle and the sound of a twig snapping causing all of them to stiffen and be on high alert, scanning the area around them.

“Stay calm, I’m not here to hurt you,” a raspy voice called them, still hidden by the tree line.

“Yeah, no, I’m not sure I’m inclined to believe you,” Jaskier groused, hand still pressed on his shoulder where Yennefer’s magic was slowly knitting the wound back together as much as she dared.

“I assure you, if I wanted you dead, you would be, bard,” with that the figure in the trees made themselves known and Geralt snarled at the sight of Nilgaardian armor. Ciri gasped, her face paling and eliciting a wince from Jaskier when she squeezed his shoulder a little too tightly. Yennefer stood, looming over the pair still on the ground, the air around her growing heavy as she called on her Chaos.

“ _You_ ,” Ciri breathed, her eyes wide with fear.

“I apologize princess, I truly never meant…no, now is not the time. First, allow me to introduce myself. I am Commander Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Caellach.

“That name takes longer to say than Valdo Marx lasts in bed,” Jaskier retorted, though he too looked ashen as his gaze was fixed upon the Nilfgaardian knight.

“Quiet,” Yennefer hissed, her eyes nearly glowing as she watched the man’s careful movements. He stepped closer and they all tensed, Geralt adjusting his grip on his sword with a growl.

Then, to their immense surprise, he knelt in the dirt and reached for the discarded, bloodied doublet. He picked it up and stood as he inspected it, his expression one of satisfaction, at which point he fixed Jaskier with a peculiar look.

“You’re dead,” the darkly-garbed soldier informed him, and they all started at him in a sort of morbid shock. “You’re dead,” he repeated. “Jaskier the bard died outside of Posada. Nilfgaard caught and killed you and you’re dead. Do you understand me?”

_No_.

“What?” Jaskier breathed, his eyes still wide.

“No one can know you’re alive. Not now. You’re dead. Do you understand? You’re _dead_.”

_Oh._

Oh gods. He was letting them go.

Geralt realized it at the same time.

“You’re letting him go. You’re letting us go,” there was a slight shift in his weight though he did not drop from his ready stance. “Why?” he growled.

Cahir merely shook his head.

“I’ve committed treason against my Empire. I may hang for this. And no matter what reason I give, no matter what excuse, it’ll never be enough.”

He looked upon each of them, and then with a strange nod that felt more like a bow, moved to vanish back into the trees.

“I hate you,” Ciri shouted, unable to contain herself. He stiffened but did not look toward her. “I hate you,” she repeated, softer, quieter. “…but thank you.”

He vanished into the shadows of the trees, leaving them standing there in silence.

It was a long time before any of them moved, and only then was it to move quietly as far from that place as possible for a safe spot to make camp for an uneasy night.

Jaskier and Ciri sat together quietly watching as the sun set, the brilliant blaze of orange and red making the foothills of the mountains look as though they were on fire.

“I though these were the Blue Mountains,” Jaskier commented, breaking the oddly tense silence. Ciri shot him a confused look. “They look rather _fiery_ to me.”

Despite herself, Ciri snorted.

“That was _terrible_. Do you always tell such terrible jokes?”

“Of course not!” He protested. “My jokes are the epitome of high class and culture!”

“Liar,” Geralt interjected, stepping closer, still tense after the earlier run in. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Fine,” Jaskier was quick to reply, but flinched when he moved it too quickly and Geralt fixed him with a look. “It’s sore. I’ve had worse,” he muttered.

Ciri turned her wide green eyes to him.

“Jaskier, he nearly killed you. I know him, that man. He doesn’t miss.”

Jaskier shrugged with his good shoulder.

“I’m just lucky like that.”

“It’s not luck,” Geralt said immediately and Jaskier turned to look up at him with a confused expression, even as Yennefer walked over to join them.

“Oh are we doing this now?”

“Doing what?” Jaskier asked even as Geralt sat nearby, not touching but close enough.

“Jaskier. It’s you, about why they’ve been chasing you.”

“I already know that,” Jaskier replied his brow furrowed. “They’ve been looking for you and Ciri.”

“That may have been why it started, but you said yourself they stopped asking about Geralt the second time they caught you.”

Jaskier’s wide blue eyes darted to Yennefer and then to Geralt who wouldn’t meet his eye, his golden gaze averted and looking decidedly uncomfortable.

“Geralt?”

A grunt was his response and Jaskier persisted.

“Talk to me, Geralt, please. Why are they after me?”

“Destiny,” he finally said shortly, turning to look at Jaskier with a myriad of emotions shining in his eyes. Disbelief. Trepidation. Wonder. _Longing_?

Jaskier’s mouth fell open, closed, opened, and then he looked around the three of them with clear confusion and disbelief as he bit his lip.

“What…are you saying?”

“Jaskier, you…you’re a Force. An agent of Destiny made manifest. It’s not luck, it’s _fate_.”

Jaskier shook his head, slowly at first, then faster as he scrambled to his feet grunting at the pull and pain on his shoulder.

“No,” he denied, backing away from them with clumsy steps. “No, I’m just a man. Just a bard. I’m nothing special.”

“Jaskier-”

“I’m not an all-powerful witch, or a-a monster hunter. I’ve no special blood or magic. I’m just a bard.”

His breath was coming out quickly, too quickly and his expression was entirely of distress.

“Jaskier, you need to calm down.”

“No!” He shouted, still denying. “No…no I can’t- I can’t be …Destiny or a Force or anything of the sort. If I was-” He choked, his panicked denials cut off as he gasped, his breath too shallow to do any real good and he swayed on his feet. Geralt barely caught him before he fell to the ground and eased him back to sitting.

Geralt eased him back to the ground and leaned him forward, murmuring at him to take deep breaths until he calmed down.

They didn’t press after he brought himself back under control but Yennefer caught Geralt after the sun had gone down fully and the bard and younger girl had fallen asleep.

“What was that about?” She practically hissed. “Of all the reactions I imagined I never thought it would be _that_.”

Geralt’s eyes were fixed on the face of the sleeping bard, his expression still scrunched in pain despite being asleep.

“He knows something,” Geralt murmured. “He knows something and he’s terrified of it.”

Yennefer looked from Geralt to Jaskier and back again.

“But what?”

Geralt could only shake his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know in the books Pegasus is a lazy gelding that annoys Geralt to no end, but Destiny intervened and this time Pegasus is a bad ass of a horse.
> 
> Actual crazy happenstance, I live fairly north and the first time I saw the Aurora Borealis was peak summer. Not at all a common occurrence where I am but definitely a cool one! 
> 
> Small beer/ale was a low alcohol content beer that was drank frequently in the medieval ages as clean water was not always accessible, even kids drank it.
> 
> I swear someone tracking my google research thinks I'm insane. For example, my fun arrow research: pulling an arrow out really is the worst thing you can do. Injuries to the trunk were most likely fatal due to damage to the lungs and just the general amount of blood loss they caused. A particularly talented archer could loose 6 arrows a minute, so a single arrow injury would be a rarity, which is why Geralt knows something isn't right. That all being said, if it was a clean pass through (especially through an extremity) it really would heal without complication within a week or so. This was all very well documented info by a Dr. Bill during the US Civil War. 
> 
> 'Aumakua might be the thinnest reference to Tetris of any scene in this whole story. The level is basically Hawaiian volcanoes, so I made a throwaway comment about the mountains looking like they were on fire. Kinda unfortunate, 'Aumakua are actually really cool. They're like ancestral gods that appear in animal form (think Moana's Grandmother's stingray) but I couldn't for the life of me incorporate it and keep the story on track.


	6. PART SIX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time I've felt any sort of nervousness posting a chapter. Hope it satisfies.

Starfall | Secrets

 _Come follow me_.

Jaskier hated the quiet. Hated the blessed silence that Geralt was so fond of. Hated the months he’d spent on the run, quiet with only the sound of Pegasus’ hooves on the grounds and the birdsong in the air to keep him company.

Hated it, because in the silence he couldn’t ignore it. Couldn’t deny it. Couldn’t drown it out.

The song. The one he’d heard for as long as he could remember. Whispered words that he so rarely let himself hear.

He’d learnt early on that nobody else could hear the whispered words, the haunting song that called like a lure, and so he learned to ignore it. To drown it out and replace it with words and music of his own making.

There was power in it. In those whispers, in that silent song. Every time he followed it _something_ happened. Something that would always leave Jaskier reeling afterwards.

He’d followed it in Cintra.

He’d followed it in Rinde,

He’d followed it in Caingorn.

He hadn’t lied, in his letter to Geralt. He had run from him, and his hurt. He had run from Nilfgaard. But he had also run from the whispered seductions of _what if_ and _why not._ Words that when he followed them seemed to shake the world whenever he listened.

And they were whispering again. The trail they were on leading him ever closer.

“You’re quiet,” Ciri remarked as they walked alongside the horses, leading them to the witcher keep deep in the Blue Mountains.

“Ah, just woolgathering,” he replied, offering her a smile.

“Hmm,” she looked at him intently for a moment as if discerning if he was speaking true before nodding and releasing his gaze.

“Oh come now, you don’t have more to say?” He inquired. Not because he particularly felt like talking, and certainly not about the whispering words caressing his skin, but because- “You’ll end up like Geralt, with a vocabulary of ‘hmm’ and ‘fuck’ and that’s simply no way to go through life.”

“I heard that,” came Geralt’s warning retort from ahead of them.

“You just looked like you were…I don’t know. Listening,”

Jaskier forced himself to continue walking impassively.

“Well,” he laughed, hoping nobody would notice the tension in his voice. “The world is a symphony around us. The roar of the river, the birds on the breeze, the wind through the trees!”

“Composing again?” Yennefer asked drily from behind.

“Always,” he replied with a cheeky grin and wink directed back at her. She snorted derisively in retort, even as she smiled back.

They made it to the keep as night fell, the sky alit with stars numbering beyond measure shining above. It was odd to be arriving so early and not near the winter season. Odder still to arrive to a quiet keep without Lambert or Eskel already there to jostle and tease.

But the keep wasn’t empty and as they led the horses into the courtyard another door flew open with a bang and Vesemir came into view quickly, his eyes darting between them before landing on Jaskier and relief painting his expression.

“Thank the gods,” he breathed.

The odd pair of the oldest living witcher and the bard turned Force of Destiny merely stared each other for a long moment before Geralt cleared his throat.

“Vesemir,” he greeted. “We found him. Jaskier, this is Vesemir, the oldest of the remaining witchers and our sword instructor when we were young. Vesemir, this is-”

“The Force,” Vesemir murmured, surprised when Jaskier flinched and looked away with a frown. A quick glance at Geralt revealed a practiced neutral expression and careful shake of his head.

Ah. Vesemir nodded his understanding with a small, quick gesture.

“Well,” Vesemir recovered quickly. “Let’s get the horses taken care of and we can send word to the others. They’ll be relieved to know you’re here and well.”

Within the day of their arrival word was sent to Lambert and Eskel who both responded quickly with relief and thanks. They would begin heading back towards Kaedwen at a more leisurely pace and focusing on the contracts they’d avoided in their search for the wayward bard. Not long after that the remaining days of autumn fell into a familiar pattern of work around the keep, training for Ciri with both Geralt and Yennefer, and general chores to prepare for the upcoming winter.

It was a familiar routine to all but the bard who often stood on the sidelines watching and feeling out of place before disappearing into the keep’s library, reading through all the material Vesemir had read prior regarding Destiny and their curious Forces walking the Continent. The old witcher had been right, there wasn’t much to go on but there was a consistent ending to each of the stories.

Jaskier had soon read the few accounts so many times he practically had them memorized.

_I don’t think I could ever forget it – my life just as it had entwined with hers, forged of light and prismatic color swirling in the air around her, faster and brighter until I could no longer look at her. And like a butterfly from its cocoon, out of that light she changed. It was a remarkable metamorphosis. Well deserved I think. This is just the beginning for us._

_After everything that had happened he told me the only thing he wanted was to follow the words that had beckoned for so long. After all he’d done for me, for my Destiny, how could I refuse? So we followed and what happened next…well. There are stories about me now. There will be legends about him. Not many would believe it, but it was a blessing. A reward for all he’d done. A transformation. A metamorphosis. We face tomorrow without fear now._

_How do you reward one who has given everything? By giving them everything anew. A complete metamorphosis. A new life. A second life. He had given everything without asking for anything in return. This new life…it suits him. He’s reborn, just as I was, but different at the same time. I am grateful. Destiny brought us together, Destiny worked through him, and I’ve no doubt Destiny has given us this gift as well._

Always written about them. Never written _by_ them.

“I thought I mind find you here,” Vesemir interrupted the quiet, pulling Jaskier out of his ponderings as he compared the faded texts strewn in front of him. “I imagine you have more questions than answers.”

Jaskier sighed, closing one of the books and nudging it away before nodding.

“There’s not much written. Normal men and women going about their lives next to great heroes who changed the world. Destiny given human form to lead them on their way.”

“That is the crux of the matter, yes, may I?” Vesemir asked gesturing toward the chair beside the bard. Jaskier nodded and invited him to sit, which the old witcher did with a small sigh of relief. “Geralt confided that you didn’t take the news of being a Force of Destiny well. But that isn’t quite the truth, is it?”

He watched the younger man as he kept his gaze averted and gave a non-committal shrug in response.

“You may not have the words for it,” Vesemir continued. “But you’ve always followed a call that no one else can see or hear.”

There, a flinch. Minute, subtle, but there.

“You don’t have to tell me. But no one here will judge or scorn you for it. We _know_ Destiny works through you, even if we don’t fully understand the how or why.”

Jaskier didn’t answer, not immediately. It was quiet, a tension drawn so taught that it was ready to snap and for a moment Vesemir feared that it would. But then, the bard let out his breath in a long, deep exhale and squeezed his eyes shut, the tension lessening as he began to speak.

“I learned not to talk about it when I was very young. The whispers, the song. _Come follow me_ it sang,” he took a shuddering breath, his eyes looking off into nothing, seeing something far away and long ago. “I was young,” he repeated. “Maybe five or six summers? Lettenhove had been gripped in illness. The people were wasting away and the Earl had written us off. The song was unbearably loud and… I was rather lonely as a child, until my sister was born. She’s nearly a decade younger than I.”

Vesemir turned his head toward Jaskier slightly at the abrupt change in the story.

“I was always off exploring and making up stories to pass the time. With the sickness my father had forbade from leaving the estate, but the song was loud, incessant. I snuck out and followed it. It was the dead of night. I was young but I remember the stars in the sky. With Lettenhove so still and quiet, there were so many to see,” he stood and took a step toward the window where a similar sky of stars shown on the other side. “I followed it to town, to the well in the square, and foolish little boy that I was I leaned over as far as I could manage to hear the whispers better.”

“You fell in,” Vesemir surmised.

“I fell in,” Jaskier agreed, still looking out the window. “Lettenhove’s well is fed by an underground lake. More of a natural cistern, really. There are a few caves that run under the village that provide access to the lake, it’s part of why Lettenhove was built where it was. I knew most of them by the time I left, but when I was that young…I fell in and managed to drag myself shivering to the shore of the lake, and I sat there crying next to a host of rotting animal corpses.”

“Ah,” Vesemir made a sound of understand. “A common cause of poisoned wells.”

Jaskier made a sound of agreement.

“One my father and his council hadn’t yet considered, nor connected with the disappearing livestock that had also been occurring.”

“A monster then, I take it,” Vesemir suggested. “One that enjoys dark, damp places. Perhaps a basilisk.”

“Yes,” Jaskier agreed, shooting him a curious look. “Though I didn’t know that for many years.”

“You’re lucky to be alive,” Vesemir fixed him with a look and Jaskier laughed, though it was a hollow sound.

“Was it luck, Vesemir? Or something else?” He turned from the window and collapsed gracelessly back in the chair. “Five days I spent in the cave. Hiding at night when it returned from its hunting and screaming for anyone to hear me during the day,” he shook his head. “I woke up in my room, with no idea how I had gotten there. I was told Lettenhove was on the mend and that a monster had been slain.” He fixed the older witcher with a curious look. “I wouldn’t know for nearly two decades that it had been a basilisk, nor that a _witcher_ had come to slay it.”

Vesemir sighed.

“Lettenhove. Southern part of Kerack, near the coast.” Jaskier made a surprised sound and Vesemir shot him a look that was almost amused. “Yes, I do remember that contract. It was far further from Kaedwen than I had allowed myself to travel in some time, and more memorable still finding a little boy _alive_ in the den of the young basilisk, one who’d been missing for days.”

Jaskier’s eyes squeezed shut and he turned away again.

“It’s not luck, is it Vesemir?”

“No,” he replied simply. “It is merely who you are.”

“And who am I?” Jaskier had opened his eyes, gazing blankly at his hands in his lap.

“A bard of some renown. A viscount of Lettenhove,” Vesemir reached out lay a hand on his shoulder, to which Jaskier looked back at him with great surprise. “A friend. One who is very dear to many in this keep. That is who you are. That is all that matters.”

Jaskier’s face was solemn as he held the witcher’s gaze.

“And after?”

Vesemir’s expression pinched in confusion.

“After?”

“After,” Jaskier confirmed. “After everything. The transformation, the _metamorphosis_. What then?”

Vesemir shook his head slowly, but a smile spread across his face.

“It’s a reward, a gift.”

“The records say everything changes. A new life.”

“A blessing,” Vesemir insisted. “Who you are will not change.”

The old witcher squeezed his shoulder once more before departing the library and leaving the bard alone to the quiet.

And the whispers.

 _Come follow me_.

Jaskier stood and walked back to the window, looking at the myriad of stars in the sky and stood there until Geralt came in quietly. He watched the bard standing rigid and silent, an action that did not suit him at all, before knocking on the door frame to catch his attention.

“Oh, Geralt,” he gave a small smile and stepped away from the window.

“You missed dinner, I- _we_ were worried. Vesemir mentioned he’d seen you here.”

“Yes, we spoke earlier, I guess I lost track of time after.”

“Composing?” Geralt asked with a soft smile as he stepped into the room, but frowned when Jaskier shook his head no.

“Just, ah, research you could say. Looking to understand.”

A glance at the books on the nearest table told Geralt all he needed to know. They were the same books that Vesemir had been using in his initial research.

 _A reward._ The older witcher had said. _A metamorphosis_.

“Jaskier, you know,” he started but stopped. This wasn’t how he wanted to have this conversation at all. “You know I don’t care about this, right? About this Force. You’re still you.”

Jaskier’s returned smile was brittle at best and heartbreaking at worst.

“And after?” the bard asked, the same question he’d asked Vesemir earlier.

“I don’t care,” Geralt insisted, crossing the room. “I _don’t_ care. You will always be _you_. The bard I couldn’t get rid of back in Posada. The friend who forced me to be his bodyguard in Cintra. The man I l-”

The door opened once more with a resounding _bang_ and Ciri came skipping in with Yennefer following on her heels, the sorceress looking at Geralt expectantly. He bit back a snarl.

“Jaskier! You missed dinner, but we saved you some,” the young girl said, depositing a tray with a bowl of stew and a bread roll on the table. “Vesemir tried to eat your honeycake, but I made him give it back.”

Jaskier smile and stepped toward the young girl, engaging in conversation with her. The earlier melancholy still lingered but was swiftly lessening in her presence. Geralt moved his gaze from them to Yennefer who raised an eyebrow in question and gestured toward Jaskier. He his jaw clenched momentarily as he shook his head no.

He could hear her audible huff from across the room and fought the urge to roll his eyes at her.

It was fine. He would find another time to speak with Jaskier privately.

==

Balloon High | Look Up

Somehow the early autumn turned into late autumn and still Geralt hadn’t found time to speak with Jaskier just the two of them. Preparing the keep for winter with still another person, the general maintenance of a building partially in ruins, and Ciri’s lessons kept him busy enough. Unfortunately, the times he wasn’t busy never seemed to coincide with when Jaskier himself wasn’t busy. Vesemir had assigned the bard his own set of chores: helping in the stables and kitchens, organizing the library, and cleaning throughout the common areas. The bard had even proved himself a fair hand with plants and assisted Vesemir and Yennefer both in the little greenhouse Vesemir had built some years ago.

By the time autumn began to give way to winter it had ceased to be amusing and had become truly problematic that for whatever reason they _couldn’t speak_. The only time that ever seemed to work was the few times Geralt had caught Jaskier strumming on the shitty lute he’d bought to ensure his prized instrument from Filavandrel stayed safe. At least with Eskel’s arrival he’d be returned _that_. Geralt had asked both of his brothers if a stop in Novigrad was possible when they’d sent word of the bard’s safety and Eskel had confirmed he could make it to the city. Jaskier’s talent shone even with the poor lute he’d acquired, but Geralt knew the music, rare as it was these days, would be remarkable with his preferred instrument in hand.

He’d asked at dinner one evening, why he didn’t play more often now that they were safely tucked away in the mountains.

_Jaskier shrugged, looking down at the plate of venison and bread and cheese._

_“I guess all the times you told me off for making too much noise and attracting attention finally took root._ ”

It was that brief explanation that made Geralt open his eyes to how restless Jaskier was, always on edge and looking his shoulder. He’d hoped the bard would find Kaer Morhen safe and at times it was obvious the other did, but more often than not the tension remained. As though Jaskier were waiting for someone to come of out of the shadows and stonework and abscond away with him. There were times Geralt would see him look over his shoulder, his hand pressed against the well-healed wound.

 _You’re dead_. Cahir had told him. _Nilfgaard killed you_.

Geralt had to squash the pang of guilt when he realized Jaskier couldn’t simply put all the time he’d spent running from Nilfgaard and keeping just ahead of their grasp behind him. And how could he? Knowing exactly what fate waited for him if they caught him.

He knew Jaskier and Vesemir had spoken at length of his status as Force and what it meant. He knew it did nothing for the bard to know he had no conscious control over it. He also knew there was something else, something he hadn’t been told yet. Vesemir merely shook his head when asked.

_“He’s only confided part of it to me and it’s not my secret to share.”_

It was a calm morning when Eskel and Lambert rode into the keep together, chilly certainly, but clear skies and only a gently breeze blowing. He’d been outside with Ciri, going through their usual sword practice when the sound of the horses hit his ears and he paused their exercise to greet them. Yennefer and Vesemir came out to join them, but Jaskier remained absent, likely not knowing about the new arrivals. Geralt frowned at the missing bard and Vesemir shook his head.

“Not sure where he got off to this morning; he wasn’t in any of the usual places I find him.”

By the usual places Geralt knew he meant the kitchen or the library. Odd.

“The bard?” Eskel confirmed looking between them. “Glad you got to him. I heard about the Nilfgaard camp in Cintra.”

Geralt swallowed and shook his head.

“I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself. Nothing but ash,” he looked Eskel in the eye for a moment before moving to Lambert, willing them to understand the importance of his next words. “He was _there_.”

From Lambert’s sharp intake of breath and the slight widening of Eskel’s eyes they both knew that whatever had destroyed the Nilfgaard camp had left no survivors, not even remains.

Lambert’s gaze flickered to the keep and back to Geralt.

“Was it…?” he let the question trail off.

“I think so,” Geralt admittedly quietly, his eyes slipping shut. He could see the only thing that remained in the field of ash, a post and a pair of broken bindings. Impossible yellow blooms in the gray.

“Fuck,” Lambert said rocking back on his heels. “That’s some powerful shit.”

“You said that about Sodden,” Yennefer intoned, though her expression was one of good natured teasing.

“Yeah, but you knew what you were doing. He just _did_ it.”

“That’s quite enough,” Vesemir interrupted, turning to head back into the keep. “Take the rest of the day to settle, but there’s still more work to be done now that you’re-”

He stopped abruptly, his eyes drifting upwards as the first notes of a melody rang out into the calm skies.

And then a voice, more cheerful than Geralt had heard in an age, ringing out.

“ _We embark on this ride  
To find out who we are  
We look up the sky  
To find out who we are  
We embark on this ride  
To find out who we are  
We embark on this ride  
to realize…”_

There was a build as Jaskier sang, one they could all feel. There was joy, bubbling below the surface, serenity woven into the words, and then the moment Jaskier _let go_ and his voice positively _soared_ through the sky.

“ _Nothing can stop us  
Nothing can stop us  
We can touch the sky!”_

Vesemir’s jaw dropped open, his eyes gleaming as he breathed. The all felt it. The power in those words, in that song. It was wild, it was free, it was _beautiful_.

“ _Oh_.”

“ _Nothing can stop us  
Nothing can stop us  
We can touch the sky!”_

Geralt’s head snapped to the old witcher as the lute continued to sing a joyful song to the mountains below.

“What just happened?”

“It seems someone has had a bit of a self-discovery. A Destiny realized you could say.”

Geralt inhaled sharply.

“Then…is he…is this?”

“No, I don’t think so. Not yet anyway, but if he’s accepted what he is…soon I would wager.”

“Does anybody want to fill the rest of us is?” Lambert drawled, crossing his arms across his chest, though there was a smile tugging at his mouth, as though he couldn’t stop himself. Or maybe the melody played by the Force wouldn’t let him. It was anyone’s guess at this point.

“The reward,” Vesemir explained. “The metamorphosis.”

“Has something changed?” Eskel wondered, glancing at Geralt before he tilted his head to listen to the words once again echoing about the keep.

“ _We embark on this ride  
To find out who we are_”

It was Yennefer who answered.

“No. If anything this is most Jaskier has sounded like _Jaskier_ since we caught up to him in Posada. Cheerful and chirping like the little songbird that he is.”

“You said it sounded like _pie with no filling_?” Ciri demanded, tugging at his sleeve. “Geralt! He’s _incredible_.”

Geralt shrugged, even as his brothers turned to him simultaneously, both with a _look_ on their faces.

“I hadn’t been sleeping,” he defended himself.

“The djinn?” Yennefer asked plaintively and Geralt hummed in reply.

The song ended in an echo of notes off the mountain and with a gust of wind the calm of the day seemed to break, a light snow beginning to fall from the clouds that had rolled in while they’d been standing in the courtyard listening. They took that as their signal to move into the keep and by the time Lambert and Eskel had tucked their gear away in their respective rooms Jaskier had made his way back to the main hall. Compared to the unkempt, gaunt bard that had arrived in autumn he looked like a different man. He’d taken the time to trim his hair and finally clear the beard that had grown in on his jaw. Without it he looked younger than his age, which was almost a relief to see. He was even wearing a set of his favored silks in a shimmering blue with teal accents. He smiled at them.

“You must be Eskel and Lambert,” he greeted with a beaming smile. “I’ve heard many stories of you. Vesemir has been kind enough to share some of your exploits, I hope you don’t mind.” He turned to Lambert. “And I do hope you’ll forgive me for that trouble in Beauclair. I didn’t realize who were at the time.”

Lambert laughed.

“I won’t hold it against you, knowing Nilfgaard was on your tail. All I ask is you let _me_ tell my own stories; I guarantee I have the best ones yet to share.”

Eskel merely smiled, a warm look despite the scars on his face.

“I’ve heard you have many stories too, Jaskier. And songs to match.”

Jaskier’s smile didn’t dim in the slightest.

“I am the _storyteller_ , my dear witcher. I would be remiss to tell stories of myself,” the smile turned slightly sly. “But I wouldn’t be opposed to perhaps sharing a story of mine for one of yours.”

“Deal,” Eskel said, putting forth a hand for the bard to shake in agreement.

“Thus our contract is made,” Jaskier grinned, taking the proffered hand.

“Well, you certainly look better,” Yennefer remarked and Geralt shot her a concerned glance.

His smile went from sly to soft as he looked at her, his eyes sparking with mirth and joy in equal measure.

“I feel better. I feel…like _me_. I don’t know how to explain it,” he said, his hands spread helplessly in front of him.

“Well, isn’t that why we look up to the sky?” she teased in return. “To find out who we are.”

“Ah,” he flushed slightly pink. “You heard that?”

“The whole of the Blue Mountains heard that,” Lambert informed him.

“It was wonderful,” Ciri told him, her expression open and earnest. “Will you play more for us?”

Jaskier seemed to delate.

“Unfortunately I seem to have broken a few too many strings. It’s not the finest crafted lute I’ve ever played. I do have a hand drum, but I know far fewer songs with it as accompaniment.”

“Well,” Eskel said, smiling again. “Today is your lucky day it would seem.”

Jaskier snorted.

“I’m not sure if you know this, but most days are my lucky days. It’s in my nature I’ve been told.”

“All the more reason for this to be a lucky day then,” Eskel said, clapping him on his shoulder as he exited the hall at a light jog. He returned a few moments later with a familiar case in his hands.

“You must be _joking_ ,” Jaskier breathed, accepting it when Eskel held it toward him. “I left it…”

“With Priscilla, in Novigrad. It was _my_ lucky day that she remembered me from Lan Exeter the previous summer. Geralt…” Eskel looked to the white-haired witcher and trailed off and Geralt barely hesitated before stepping toward Jaskier.

“I sent message to Eskel and Lambert, after we reached Kaer Morhen. Asked if either of them could find Priscilla and the lute in Novigrad. It seemed wrong to me that you… felt you needed to leave it behind.”

Jaskier’s grip on the lute case was trembling and the bard could only stare at Geralt.

“You…I…” Jaskier seemed at a loss for words as he looked down to the case in his hands and back to Geralt with an expression that was so open and grateful that the witcher was momentarily taken aback by the fact that it was directed at him. “ _Thank you_. I can’t even- _thank you_.” He repeated.

“It’s just a lute,” Lambert groused, though his countenance said he knew otherwise.

“No,” Geralt and Jaskier spoken in tandem, still staring at each other. Jaskier’s look shifted to surprise, even as Geralt glowered at Lambert, who held up his hands in surrender.

“It _looks_ like just a lute?” he offered instead.

Jaskier shook his head slowly, trying to find the words of how much more it was to him. It was the beginning of his career, his adventures with Geralt. It was full of memories and moments, both good and bad. It was new friends and new places. It was monsters and men. It was chaos and coin. It was all the songs he’d written over the years, both the ones written for Geralt and those that were tales of other adventures.

It was so much more than just a lute to him.

“It’s how I tell my story,” he offered after a pause as he defined what the lute meant.

Geralt looked at him with a look of fondness. Ciri looked besotted and even Eskel was smiling softly at the declaration.

“Fair enough,” Lambert agreed with a nod. “Does this mean you’ll play for us now?”

Jaskier’s responding smile was positively beaming.

Later, much later, after music and food and several drinks to welcome Eskel and Lambert back to Kaer Morhen safe and sound for the winter, Geralt finally had a chance to approach Jaskier who was still strumming the lute softly, his eyes closed and a soft smile on his face. He didn’t look up until Geralt took a seat beside him.

When he opened his eyes he startled but didn’t miss a note as he continued to weave a melody, one that gradually wove into a slow, mellow song Geralt couldn’t help but smile to hear.

“ _Every passing day  
The winds might blow stronger”_

Jaskier kept his eyes on Geralt as the words passed his lips.

“ _Joy to the light the way  
To keep the reminder”_

He nearly fumbled the lute when Geralt started to sing with him, and it was only years of practice and playing in rough and tumble taverns and roads in the wilds that kept him from failing.

“ _I’m yours forever  
There is no end in sight for us  
Nothing could measure  
The kind of strength inside out hearts_

_It’s all connected  
We’re all together in this love  
Don’t you forget it  
We’re all connected in this love”_

Jaskier’s hands continued moving over the strings of the lute by sheer muscle memory, but he couldn’t help but trail off in shock at the burning gaze fixed upon him as Geralt continued to sing. The witcher. Singing Jaskier’s song. A song written _for_ him. A song written _to_ him.

“ _Beyond the storms and the seas  
The sun and the breeze  
The starts in the galaxy  
Beyond the time that we take  
The days that we make  
I’m always gonna be with you_”

Jaskier continued to play while holding Geralt’s gaze, who met it with a curious expression on his face. If Jaskier didn’t know any better he might label it regret. It wasn’t. But it was? Jaskier let the notes ring out into silence before carefully slipping the strap of the lute over his head and setting it beside him, moving to stand, but Geralt was a breath faster and the bard found his face cradled in calloused hands.

“Geralt?” He asked, slightly breathless and unable to tear his gaze away from those golden eyes boring into him.

“Destiny,” Geralt said somehow stepping _closer_ as he did so. “Has tied me to many people. Lambert, Eskel, and Vesemir through my life as a witcher. Yennefer through the djinn. Ciri through the Law of Surprise.”

Jaskier swallowed, tears welling in his eyes unbidden at the raw emotion in Geralt’s every word, his gaze, and the slight movement of the hands on his face. The witcher looked at him as something precious. Something lost and found. Something unfathomable.

“But you…you _chose_ me. You created a connection between us because you wanted it and nothing more.”

“I-” Jaskier tried to respond, but the words stuck in his throat and he swallowed hard, trying once more to find them. Because despite the strange song on the wind, it was _true_. The song hadn’t carried him to Posada. He’d in facat gone to Posada trying to get _as far from it as possible_. He’d followed the witcher out of sheer curiosity. He’d forged their connection out of sheer want. Over the years it became _so much more_ to him, but their beginning, no matter how unlikely with their encounter with the elves, had been curiously humble for one so steeped in Destiny as Geralt was. As Jaskier was as well, it seemed.

Geralt drew him closer still, leaning the little height he had over the bard to rest his forehead on the other man’s and closed his eyes.

“I’m yours forever, Jaskier. However long you want this connection, it’s yours. I’m yours.”

Jaskier felt as though he would stop breathing.

“Geralt?” He asked again, his voice raised in something akin to panic and tears slipping from his eyes.

“I love you,” Geralt told him, opening his eyes and drawing back just enough to look at Jaskier clearly. “I didn’t realize…I didn’t know. Everything with you is so damn hard and so _damn easy_ at the same time. I’ve never been more at peace and comfortable with someone than I am with you. I have to be as strong as my brothers, as untouchable as Yennefer, as driven as Ciri. But you’ve always let me just _be_.

“You have been with me through some of my best and some of my worst. Brought me to the family I never thought I could have. You’ve sang for me, you’ve cared for me, you’ve _burned_ for me. And I’m _yours forever_ if you’ll have me.”

For a moment, all Jaskier could do was stare, tears streaming down his face. Geralt felt a pang of worry and moved to pull away, but found his hands trapped in place as Jaskier reached up and grasped his wrists with his own calloused hands, strong from years and years of musical performance.

“Forever,” Jaskier echoed, his voice croaking slightly. “I’ve been yours since we met and I’ll be yours forever. Of course I love you, even when you’re a complete boorish oaf. Never has the world been so quiet except when I’m with you. I’ve never met a better man and I doubt I ever will.”

Geralt’s thumb stroked his cheek, wiping away the tears and he leaned forward slightly.

“May I?” he breathed, lips ghosting above Jaskier’s own.

“Please,” Jaskier whispered back, equally soft.

Geralt’s lips captured his in the first of what would be many kisses.

“Fucking _finally_ ,” came a mutter from the hallway adjacent, though who said it was not obvious to them. Jaskier laughed and Geralt startled with a growl and turned toward their unwanted audience, but Jaskier’s hands on his face as pulled him back into another kiss was good enough reason to let them get away with it.

This time.

==

Mermaid Cove | World of Colors

There was something complete about the unconventional confession that took Geralt and Jaskier to _Geralt and Jaskier_. At the same time though, there was still something _else_. Jaskier couldn’t put it into words and Vesemir had no further knowledge for them.

“As charming as it is to have your foolishness and pining resolved, I’m not sure it meets the awe-inspiring Metamorphosis described in the few records we have.”

“Charming?” Lambert muttered. “More like gag-inducing.”

“I think it’s cute,” Ciri offered. “It’s almost like a fairytale. There’s even a princess.”

“Did you hear that, Geralt? Ciri think you’re pretty enough to be a princess.”

“If either of us is the pretty one, it’s you. And I’m pretty sure she was referring to herself.”

“Well, little bird,” Jaskier turned to her with a laugh. “Which of us is right?”

Ciri only smiled benignly, her eyes sparkling with amusement at the banter. She did, however, hum the chorus of _Lady of Goldenwood_ while looking at Geralt.

Geralt loosely draped an arm around Jaskier’s waist as he pointed at her.

“You will be running extra drills if I ever hear you call me pretty,” he threatened her, his eyes giving away his joy despite the serious tone in his voice and the severe expression on his face. Jaskier snuggled into the embrace.

“I think you’re quite pretty,” the bard offered.

The arm around his waist tightened, but Geralt didn’t fight the odd compliment.

As the heavy snows of winter drove them inside it was harder to find time alone, much less somewhere to have a private moment or conversation. Despite that, Jaskier usually found a way to make himself scarce whenever he wanted to compose. It took Ciri longer than she wanted to admit to track him down, especially when the music rang through the halls of the keep so clearly.

“ _It’s how we pray  
We drifted and sank underwater_”

She stopped to listen. The melody cheerful despite the somewhat mournful tone of the lyrics.

Hopeful, she realized. It was _hope_.

“ _I was okay  
Trimming with my world of color_”

Is that how he made it? Geralt had said Jaskier promised he would be okay. What was his color? His music? Geralt? His love for life and the people in it? Ciri felt it could be any or all of them.

“ _But you never were nothing  
Pushed me further to discover_”

Ciri frowned, wondering if this was written like many of Jaskier’s songs for Geralt. _To_ Geralt even. Had Jaskier ever thought of Geralt as nothing? That didn’t seem likely based on what she knew about them. As she crept closer to the origin of the music, she realized it was most likely that _Geralt_ felt like nothing. Felt as though he could never be more than the monster hunter he’d been made to be.

“ _A whole new universe again  
I know we’re young but we’re damn strong_”

Was that …about her? She knew Jaskier had been traveling with Geralt for over two decades. That Geralt and Yennefer both had longer lives as a witcher and sorceress respectively. Comparatively, she was the youngest…and Jaskier was young amongst the witchers and mages too. And yet, as the only two humans amongst them they both had magic all their own and had survived running from Nilfgaard. They _were_ damn strong. Both of them. _All_ of them.

“ _We are the light and gold  
We’re shining like no other  
Like diamonds in the rough  
We found our world of colors_

_Now we’re never gonna give it up  
We’re never gonna give it up, no  
We’re never gonna give it up  
We love our world of colors”_

Ciri had crept closer to the door as he played, and was startled when a hand muted the strings of the lute.

“You’re not as sneaky as you think, little bird.”

“I thought _you_ were the songbird, Jaskier,” she said coming around the corner into the room where he was sitting with his prized instrument.

He threw his head back and laughed, the sound as melodic as his song.

“Well, I suppose that’s true,” he moved to set the lute aside but she called out and made him pause.

“Oh please don’t. I…could I hear the rest of the song? It’s lovely and I’ve never heard you play it before.”

“Ah,” he replied, settling the lute back in his lap. “I’m still working on it.”

“I don’t mind,” she insisted, settling near his feet as he strummed to pick the song back up, the words flowing a moment later.

“ _Moments of joy  
I’m so blessed we have discovered  
Our worlds to enjoy  
And now we’re dancing like there’s no tomorrow_

_We never were nothing  
We kept trimming, still inspired  
Never losing hope again  
And if they say so, we’ll prove ‘em wrong”_

Oh. Oh but Jaskier _had_ loved Geralt for ages, hadn’t he? And despite everything – running from Nilfgaard, escaping, finding out about his own connection with Destiny, he kept on going. Ciri knew how that felt. How many times between Cintra’s fall and finding Geralt had she had her hopes raised and dashed in quick succession? And yet, she let Destiny keep her going. Let her hope for _Geralt_ keep her going.

The difference was, she knew she was tied to Geralt. Jaskier did it for his love alone.

Incredible.

“ _We fought, we hope for love  
We fought, we hope for love, oh love  
Didn’t we, didn’t we fight for love?_

_We fought, we hope for love  
We fought, we hope for love, oh_

_Didn’t we hope?”_

As the song ended, Ciri couldn’t help but smile at the happiness on Jaskier’s face as he finished. He looked at her with sparkling eyes and a soft smile.

“It’s wonderful,” she breathed.

“Thank you,” he accepted with a small nod. “I’m not sure if it’s quite finished yet, but it’s close either way.”

Ciri nodded and was quiet for a moment as he set the lute aside.

“How long have you loved him?”

Jaskier looked wistful, a hint of pink climbing up his cheeks.

“I’ve always fallen in love easily. There’s something special and beautiful about everyone and I think, and part of me loved Geralt the first day we met. When he convinced the elves of Dol Blothanna to let us go without resorting to violence I knew he was different. I was…young, when we met. I had just finished at the Academy in Oxenfurt and set-off to find my fame and make my name and I thought I knew everything. With Geralt I realized there was still a lot about the world I didn’t know, and a lot I had been taught that was entirely false.”

“False?”

Jaskier shrugged.

“The elves. They didn’t gift Dol Blothanna to the humans and retreat to palaces hidden in the mountains, as I’d always been taught. They’d been driven out, living in hovels in the hills. They were sick and dying. Stealing to survive. If not for Geralt…”

“You would have kept believing what you’d been taught,” Ciri realized, wondering about her own knowledge of the elves, their attacks on Cintra, her grandmother’s actions against them…it was too much to delve into right now, and they were getting away from why she had sought the bard out.

He made an affirmative sound, and then as if reading her mind, changed the subject.

“But that’s not what you came to talk about, is it?”

She flushed and shook her head.

“No-I…I was hoping,” she tried but hesitated.

“It’s alright, take your time,” he reassured, his face gentle as her own scrunched up as she fought with how to ask.

“I just…how are you dealing with it so well?” she blurted out.

His expression shifted to confusion.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to elucidate?”

“I mean…when you found out about Destiny, about your magic. You were…” She trailed off, not wanting to offend.

“Distressed? Panicking? Massively overwhelmed and struggling to comprehend that someone had figured out that I wasn’t entirely as human as I liked to pretend?”

It took Ciri a moment to process the truth behind Jaskier’s teasing words.

“Wait…you knew?!”

He smiled but shook his head all the same time.

“I knew I wasn’t entirely _normal_. Learning I was linked to Destiny came as a surprise, I’d never realized what was happening, only that there were places I _needed_ to go. People I needed to meet. When I was very young I…started to hear a song. One that was whispered and nobody else could hear. I realized it was best not to talk about it, to ignore it. It was hard though, so I decided it would best to drown it out instead.”

“ _That’s_ why you learned music?” Ciri asked incredulously, but Jaskier laughed and shook his head.

“Believe it or not, that strange song is what took me to Oxenfurt. It’s what led me to Geralt outside of Rinde when we met Yennefer, and it’s why I knew I had to perform in Cintra the night your parents…well.”

“And Geralt?” She asked, honestly curious. “Was he one of the people the song led you to?”

Jaskier smile went wide. It was so open and honest and _real_ that Ciri couldn’t help but smile with him.

“No,” he said simply. “No, the whispers and the…well. Everything was quiet the day I decided to go to Posada. Geralt might be the only thing in my life I chose for myself.”

Ciri was quiet for a moment.

“Does it scare you?” She asked, then hastened to clarify. “Your magic, being a Force of Destiny?”

He hummed but looked at her carefully.

“It’s okay to be afraid, you know,” he said at last, still looking at her. “It’s okay to be afraid of things you don’t understand. We all are, at different times. What’s not okay is to let that fear hold you back. It _was_ terrifying, to know that a song I’d heard for decades was tied to Destiny. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it didn’t change anything. I’ve gotten be part of some pretty remarkable things. I’ve rubbed elbows with kings and queens, written songs the entire Continent knows, fallen in love and out of love and in love all over again, and I’ve seen the most amazing places. When I realized that, I realized there was no reason to be afraid. I’m still just _me_ , despite what magic I may be touched with.”

“And…the reward…the metamorphosis Vesemir has mentioned?”

Jaskier’s expression slipped, but his smile returned, albeit smaller than before.

“I can’t deny I’m…apprehensive. I don’t know what happens. I don’t know who or what I’ll be after. What little I know from what’s been written doesn’t describe it as something to fear. So…I’m hopeful that it will be good. For me, for Geralt, for everyone I care about.”

Ciri nodded, slowly at first, but the more confidently.

“That’s what I should do, isn’t it? Yennefer’s been teaching me because my magic as a Source is more potent, but that doesn’t make it scary does it? It just _is_ , and I get to choose what to do with it and what my life will be.”

Jaskier smiled and nodded.

“And you will make your life _amazing_ , of this I have no doubt.”

==

Orbit | Hometown

What Jaskier hadn’t mentioned to Vesemir or Ciri was that it wasn’t always whispers of a song that drew him to places and people. Sometimes it was the ghost of an image, hovering in the peripherals of his visions. Like a swarm of fireflies in dancing colors, he would see the shape of a person walking beside him, or in front of him. He could never make the specter out, but it urged him to follow all the same. At other times it was a far clearer recreation of events: past, present, and future, overlapped with the reality he was seeing in front of him. It was those times he found himself babbling an incessant stream of words, singing an endless chain of melodies, or fixating on the words of his notebooks to avoid acknowledging the images only he could see.

While many were innocent enough in their depictions, others were tragic, terrible, and horrific. More than once Jaskier had felt the hot prickle of tears in his eyes at sights no one else could see. War. Fire. Death. Sometimes it was hard to tell if what he was seeing had been or would be, and he didn’t always know which was worse.

But for all the bad, there were awe inspiring sights too. He had seen, without knowing it at the time, a future Cirilla in the throne room of Cintra, reclaiming her kingdom. He had seen Geralt cutting through the Nilfgaard forces unyielding as warm butter, his brothers at his side. He’d seen himself smiling, standing surrounded by his favorite people, some familiar faces and others new to him.

The last had been equally terrifying as it was inspiring. It was the first thing he saw when they’d come through the gates of Kaer Morhen, and he saw it each time he stepped into the courtyard.

It had taken him longer to understand the sights and what they meant than the whispered song.

The whispered music led him to turning points. The images showed him what is, was, and what _could_ be.

The scenes of the future weren’t guarantees. They were _possibilities_. The future was always in motion. Jaskier had seen some of the visions of tomorrow come true and others remain unfulfilled. The scenes of would and could be were the hardest – they were beautiful and terrifying in equal measure and there were no hints as to what actions to take to ensure they would or would not come to pass.

Seeing the present was strange. It was odd to watch the world as it was without being there. On one hand, it was helpful for keeping up with public events and helped him figure out where to go and when or where to avoid. On the other, there were some things he didn’t want to see, would have been glad to _never_ have seen. Geralt’s fight with the Striga in Temeria. Nilfgaard under the Usurper. Cintra burning.

Perhaps hardest to watch was the past. Geralt had never spoken of Blaviken, but Jaskier _knew_. He’d seen it in dancing color as he passed through the place once after setting out in the spring to find the witcher. He’d seen the woman. The mage. The fight. The townspeople throwing stones. He’d seen the Great Cleansing not long after Posada, crying silent tears long into the night as he watched a history he’d never been told. He saw the ghosts of Kaer Morhen as he traversed the halls.

The visions were prominent here. He didn’t know if it was because of all the memories in the keep, or if it was the fact that so many of its inhabitants had been touched by Destiny.

Geralt. Yennefer. Ciri.

Pulled together by a Force. Pulled together by _him_.

He was watching a memory of boys, and truly that’s what they were. Boys, _children_ , young and innocent. Preparing for a life of monsters and money and _fear and contempt_.

He didn’t realize there were tears streaming down his cheeks until a warm, calloused hand cupped his face and wiped them away. Startled, Jaskier looked away from the shimmering specters with a gasp and looked up to see concerned golden eyes looking back.

“You’re crying.”

“I-I’m,” Jaskier ducked his head, unable to meet the witcher’s worried gaze.

“Are you alright?”

“’m fine,” Jaskier croaked, his throat suddenly dry. He coughed and tried again with a shake of his head. “I’m fine.”

“ _Jaskier_ ,” Geralt insisted. “I might not be one for words, but you _can_ talk to me.”

The bard was quiet for a long moment.

“There are so many ghosts here,” he said quietly at last, hands clenched in his laps. “I didn’t…I never truly thought about it, but there are, aren’t there? So much loss and pain.”

“Yes,” Geralt said simply, sitting beside him. “But there are happy memories too. And recent memories have started to wash away some of the hurt that has lingered here. What brought this on?”

Jaskier’s closed his eyes and ducked his head, before giving voice to a truth he’d never spoken to anyone, ever.

“I can see them.”

It was a whisper, a murmur, low and quiet. Barely a breath past his lips.

Geralt heard it clearly, sucking in a sharp breath between clenched teeth.

“ _What_?”

“I…Geralt, I. I’m sorry. I should have told you _ages_ ago but…”

Geralt waited patient, threading his fingers with Jaskier’s until the truth came tumbling about. The song, whispering. Vesemir, the well and the basilisk when he was a child. The colorful specters of the past, the present, and potential futures. He spoke of seeing the past; the purge of the elves and the events of Blaviken. He recalled watching the night Cintra burned while tucked far away in Oxenfurt, but seeing the streets of Cintra in his rooms. He whispered about visions of the future. Nightmares and dreams, and all of them _real_ and _possible_ and wanting and longing for them to come to pass and never being realized.

“It’s not as common as the whispers, but there are so many here. I don’t know if it’s because you, Yen, and Ciri are so clearly marked by Destiny or if it’s just this place, but I’ve never seen so many before.”

“Damn it, Jaskier,” Geralt’s voice sounded raw. “Why didn’t you _say_ something?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, once again looking at his hands and _not_ and the specters of himself and Geralt clearly engaged in a _dance_ in the open hall in front of him.

“Did you think we wouldn’t believe you? That we’d think you a monster?”

“No!” Jaskier insisted, nearly jumping to his feet. “ _No_ , Geralt. I…I don’t know. How do you tell someone you know they’re lying because you’ve seen the truth of the past? How could I admit to you I watched you risk everything for the young princess Adda when she was cursed to be a monster from birth? What trouble would I bring upon myself if people knew I could see what their futures could hold?”

“They would use you,” Geralt realized. “For their own gain. But that’s not how your powers work, is it? You’d end up like the previous Force, bled dry in a field somewhere by people who don’t understand.”

Jaskier nodded, his expression miserable, the tears streaming again.

“The dead fields. When I heard about the curse the whispers were singing strongly and I knew I had to go,” he agreed.

“We were so close, only a few days behind you,” Geralt informed him, pressing the heel of his hand against his head. “We were so close.”

“Nothing to do for it now,” Jaskier reassured him. “When I got to the ruins, I watched the procession. I watched them welcome her, this lovely young woman. She was so full of life and excited to help, and…” He choked. “She died with forgiveness on her breath, did you know? She told them she didn’t blame them, even as they fed her to the dirt. And when she died, I could feel the _rage_ but I didn’t understand where it was coming from.”

“That’s what happened in Cintra, isn’t it?” Geralt asked, his mind racing. “The fire. I was…I was dreaming, watching through your eyes. They beat you and you _raged._ ”

“What?” Jaskier looked startled, looking at him with wide eyes. “In Cintra-”

“I dreamt of it. Through whatever connection we have. I dreamt of your travels along the game trails, I assume before you arrived at the village that sold you out. Then I watched you in the camp. I felt your sorrow. Then your anger. It was _burning_. Like an all-consuming fire.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier’s heart was racing, his breath beginning to pick up in speed. “Geralt, when you were seeing what was happening to me, how did you feel?”

“I just told you-”

“No,” Jaskier cut him off. “You said you felt my sorrow first. How did _you_ feel?”

“I,” Geralt stopped and thought about the dream. “I wanted Nilfgaard to burn like they had in Sodden, for daring to hurt you. I was furious you’d stayed ahead of them so long and couldn’t believe this was how it could end. And then I felt your fury rise up and explode.”

Jaskier shook his head, his expression one of awe.

“It was _you_ ,” he breathed. “You saved me.”

“What? Jask, you saved yourself.”

“Geralt…all I felt that night was sorrow that I’d failed. The burning anger…it came from nowhere. It came from _you_. You _saved_ me.”

“What?” Geralt barely had time to react before he found himself with an armful of bard.

“You _saved_ me,” Jaskier whispered.

Geralt wrapped his arms around the shaking man while looking out at the empty hall. Could it really have been his anger that manifested? His desire to see Nilfgaard burn that brought forth the flame?

Vesemir said the power of a Force wasn’t fully understood.

He was connected to Jaskier, by choice and Destiny both.

“Maybe,” Geralt grunted. “But you were there, I wasn’t. Perhaps I helped, perhaps I didn’t. You still saved yourself.”

Jaskier gave a watery laugh, wiping his eyes and pulling away.

“Maybe,” he agreed. “We can share the credit.”

“Jaskier, when they caught you…”

“They didn’t hurt me,” he cut in, but blanched as he said it. “Well. They _did_ , but honestly I expected torture. Being strung up and bled dry. I don’t know. It wasn’t nearly as bad as I imagined it would be. I heard them talking and I know they had orders to bring me to the Emperor unharmed. I think…I think someone in Nilfgaard knows what I am. I think they wanted to try to use me…my powers, whatever they are.” He paused and shook his head, his voice dropping low. “I saw it. I saw a future where they took me to Nilfgaard. It was…horrible. I’d failed and the Continent burned because of it. And then suddenly it was the camp that was burning and I was so _angry_ and that future was gone. I haven’t seen a hint of it since.”

Geralt pulled him close again.

“It’s gone,” the witcher affirmed. “Nilfgaard will never have you. Whatever plan they have, we’ll stop it.”

“The future is ours to make,” Jaskier added. “It’s full of possibilities, but we get to choose which one is ours.”

They sat there, Geralt just holding Jaskier for a long moment before Jaskier spoke again.

“The previous Force, the one at the dead fields. I think it was Destiny raging. I don’t think the famine was intended.”

Geralt made a sound in his throat of agreement.

“Vesemir said something similar. That a Destiny was unfulfilled and the world fell into madness as a result.”

“Is that the future I saw?” Jaskier whispered. “The Continent burning. The sky clouded with ash. A world in madness.”

“It’s gone,” Geralt repeated. “Destiny has moved through you.”

This time Jaskier hummed his agreement.

But he couldn’t forget the sight of the world on fire.

==

Stratosphere | So They Say/Here/Like Never Before

Winter was usually dark. Literally, that is. With Kaer Morhen so high in the mountains the sun seemed to rise only a few hours each day before plunging the keep back into the dark of night. Inside, the glow of the fires kept the more frequented areas of the keep warm and cozy and awash in a golden glow, but much of the ruined school was cold and dark, more so during those deep winter months.

But this year was _different_. Sure, Yen and Ciri’s presence the previous years had brought new life to the keep after years of it just being the four remaining Wolves and the occasional witcher from another school, but this year the keep felt brighter and more alive than it had in decades. There were still dark, quiet moments. After Jaskier’s admission of being able to see visions of the past, present, and future Geralt noticed when the bard seemed to be watching something that wasn’t there. In the same vein, he knew there were times that his non-stop chatter or composing was more to drown out the whispering of Destiny than anything else.

But the winter was good. It was warm and bright and full of cheer and soon the darkest of nights was behind them and the days started to get longer, little by little. And each day the heavy snow that blanketed the land around them and the valley below started to lessen, melting away as the days began to grow warmer.

It wasn’t quite passable yet, not quite warm enough to leave, but the conversations needed to be had.

“I won’t be much help, come spring,” Jaskier said one night, as they sat around a roaring fire. He’d played a few songs, but the lute was now set aside and Ciri had abandoned her conversation with Yen to sit tucked into Geralt’s side instead.

“Were you ever?” Yennefer teased but sobered quickly.

“Until this … _thing_ with Nilfgaard is taken care of, I’m dead remember? I can’t be Jaskier. Can’t be Dandelion or Buttercup or any other identity I wore while running. Can still sing, but it’s harder as a no-name bard to earn the sorts of rooms and meals and coin I would be as myself.”

“Don’t worry so much,” she replied. “I’m sure there’s other ways you can be helpful.”

“He’s right though,” Geralt remarked, frowning as he did. “The four of us…we’d be an easy target. Difficult to hide and we’re already not subtle with a witcher, a sorceress, and a child running around.”

“’m not a child,” Ciri grumbled, but burrowed further into his side as she did so.

“Young woman,” he correct.

She blinked, then scrunched up her nose in distaste.

“No thank you, that’s somehow even worse.”

Jaskier let out a breathy laugh.

“Adding a bard would only make us more suspicious.”

“So what do you expect us to do? Split up?”

“It’s a possibility,” Geralt affirmed. Though a witcher and a bard would still draw attention, especially _him_ traveling with a bard, at least he’d be able to keep an eye on Jaskier.

“We don’t have to decide right now,” Jaskier said his tone _odd_. Geralt turned to look at him, but the bard was looking away from him, away from the fire into the otherwise dark room a frown tugging the corners of his mouth down just so.

Seeing something, Geralt realized, that they could not.

Those bright blue eyes tore away from whatever they saw to look into his own, the fire light causing them to positively gleam yellow and gold like the flickering flame. The bard looked away just as quickly with a slight shake of his head at Geralt’s questioning look.

“We’ll ask Vesemir and the others for their ideas, but at least give it some thought.”

Eventually the gray skies of winter gave way to patches of clear blue and the chill in the air was no longer so biting. It was then that training picked up again outside, the clatter of blades its own sort of song in the courtyard. Birdsong started to once again fill the air. It was soon accompanied by music that was more recognizable as Jaskier started playing outside again, his melodies singing from the mountains around to the valleys below.

The others had gone in for the night, but Geralt was restless, going through forms with a blade in his hand as familiar of dance to him as any. His mind was still racing with what to do come spring. Things were good with Jaskier. _Really_ good, he was willing to admit. They had always fit, in a strange way. And now it turned out they _really fit_ in other ways as well. It was good. _Really_ good. He could almost understand all the cuckolding to be honest.

He didn’t want it to end. Didn’t want it to change. But traveling with Jaskier would draw too much unwanted attention to both of them. He was too recognizable. Jaskier had made good on his promise of the people singing the praises of the White Wolf, but now _everyone_ knew him. And if he was seen traveling with a bard it wouldn’t be long for someone to deduce who the bard was.

They couldn’t be together. He couldn’t stand it if they were apart once more.

With a resigned sight, Geralt lowered his blade, and paused as a tune rang out from above. Closer than usual, but still somewhere overhead and out of sight.

There was no question as to whom it was. But the song was curious and Geralt stopped to listen.

“ _From my view, I can see you  
Can you see me too, cause  
We are one, we’re just some  
In this universe  
All around the earth_

_And all the galaxies  
How many are we?  
Anyway  
So they say_

_Wanna save me please  
Too far to reach  
But just a grave  
Is what they say_

_They say so”_

Geralt wasn’t certain what Jaskier was trying to say, but one thing was clear to him. Jaskier had been thinking about spring too, and didn’t want to separate from Geralt anymore than the witcher did.

“ _How can we change the world?  
Change the world overnight  
In this game of life  
Game of life_”

It was a game, wasn’t it? A strange game of strategy and moving their influence and allies, staying forever one step ahead of Nilfgaard and still learning the ever-changing rules. He tilted his head to figure out where exactly Jaskier was… _there_. Carefully placing the sword on a rack, the witcher stepped up to the wall the bard was atop and started to climb.

” _How can we take a break  
And make a difference tonight  
I won’t leave you behind  
Leave you behind_”

Geralt nearly slipped.

It seemed Jaskier had made up his mind.

“ _I told you that it’s greater  
Than you’ll ever see it  
You can’t find  
The stars align  
The way they shine  
Over all mankind_”

He slipped over the wall to the image of Jaskier sitting on a stone bench, his eyes closed as he sang. As he repeated the chorus, the adamant declaration that _I won’t leave you behind_ , he opened those bright blue eyes to see Geralt standing directly in front of him. Without missing a beat, he continued to sing, this time making it obvious the song was being sing to him, to Geralt.

“ _How can we change the world?  
Change the world?  
In this game of life  
We’re all affected, we’re all connected  
Live life in the moment  
In the time that we, time that we had_”

Geralt stepped closer, a soft smile on his face. He wasn’t letting the bard go in the spring. Not for Nilfgaard, not for anyone.

 _It’s all connected_.

That’s what Jaskier had sang, wasn’t it? What Geralt had declared at last. Despite sun and storms, sea and breeze, stars and time, and all the days.

Together.

That’s what mattered. The rest…they’d sort it out. Their present would become the past, and whatever possibilities for the future Jaskier saw, they would make their own regardless.

The song trailed off and Geralt stepped closer still as the lute was shifted to the bard’s back, pressed close he could feel the slightly smaller man’s tremble against the cool breeze.

“I’m not leaving you in the spring,” he whispered, bringing his hands up to cradle Jaskier’s face and keeping their gazes locked. His breath ghosted over the other’s lips. “I’m not leaving you unless you make me. I meant what I said. I’m yours forever.”

Jaskier’s smile was blinding.

“Silly witcher, what makes you think I wasn’t just as honest when I sang it?”

A sweet, chaste kiss quickly turned into something more fierce, more passionate and Geralt tugged the laughing bard behind him back to his rooms.

Later, after proving once more how well they fit together Geralt woke abruptly, the spot on the bed where Jaskier had been already growing cool and a song echoing through the keep, a ghostly whisper that beckoned him to follow.

Geralt bolted out of the bed, fear flooding through him suddenly as the whispered words rang around him.

“ _Come follow me_.”

 _Where was Jaskier_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Orbit. Fucking Orbit. It's probably my least favorite level in the entire game. It feels really out of place with the other levels, but I digress. I had an idea for it ahead of time and I'm actually pretty content with how it came out.
> 
> Stratosphere was tough only because the lyrics are kinda up for debate. There's a couple spots where it's not 100% clear and even though the official soundtrack was released the official lyrics weren't. For example, there's times where it sounds like 'game of life' and others where it sounds like 'game of lies'. Also, the music for the level Stratosphere changes based on what time of day you play it, so I tried to pull thematically from all three flavors (though only So They Say has lyrics). 
> 
> I kid you not, it took approximately 49,000 words for a confession to be made.


	7. PART SEVEN

Metamorphosis | Always Been But Never Dreamed

Jaskier had known it was going to break eventually; the joy, the calm, the peace he’d found throughout the winter. Ever since Geralt had taken his face in his calloused hands and confessed with Jaskier’s own song he’d known. There had been something growing. A strange sort of tension that he’d done his best to hide from the others, but it grew every day all the same. The whispering song he now knew belonged to Destiny was growing ever louder, drawing ever nearer. It was still a whisper, and yet it had become _so much more_ as it echoed around, harder and harder to ignore as it pulled at him at all odd hours, seducing him to listen and beckoning him to follow. The visions that would appear in the corner of his eye, usually just passing, faded glimpses, were now non-stop overlapped with reality around him. The ghosts of Kaer Morhen had settled, but images of the future were now a constant companion. They showed what could be next; near and distant, happy and whole and full of love and wonder and it made Jaskier _yearn_ for it all to be true. He ignored them as resolutely as possible, knowing that they were only possibilities and may not come to pass.

It was getting more difficult though, to see everyone in double. Geralt, looking so godsdamned _content_ it was beautiful. Yennefer, terrifying and powerful as ever and _relaxed_ in a way he had never seen her before. Ciri, sweet, wonderful, darling, Ciri, grown and strong and _laughing_. The others too; Vesemir, _peaceful_ and proud as he looked at the new life in Kaer Morhen. Lambert, _smiling_ instead of sneering, less full of the bitterness for the life he’d been forced into. Eskel, kind and patient, looking at someone Jaskier could never quite see with an expression full of _love_.

And still others he didn’t recognize. Other witchers with unfamiliar medallions hanging around their necks. A tall, lithe man who delighted in chasing the specter of Lambert around. A man larger than Geralt, bald, and scarred, who always appeared to be teasing and needling the White Wolf when Jaskier saw his visage. A dark, handsome man perusing the library, who poured over books with Jaskier’s own image as they clearly engaged in heated debate and discussion about the literature and lyrics they were pouring over.

It was everything Jaskier could ever dream of and it felt as though it were mocking him.

And it was because they were no more real than dreams, even if they _could_ come true.

So he ignored it. He wrote and he sang, and he focused on the _here_ and _now_. He grounded himself with the cut of lute strings on his fingers, and the searing heat of flesh flushed with love and desire beneath his hands. As soon as the weather began to ease he ventured back outside to let the chill of the air sting at his face until he was too cold to focus on the futures glimmering in his eyes.

But it continued to grow, this strange taut tension, and he _knew_ it was going to break. He was afraid of what would happen when it did, but more afraid to say anything to Geralt or the others lest he worry them over something they could not see and could not hear. An invisible enemy they could do nothing about.

And then… it did.

He’d been asleep, warm and sated and _safe_ in a way he never had been before now, before they’d become _Geralt and Jaskier_ , when the whisper was no longer a whisper but a voice clearly sung right beside him and his eyes snapped opened to a specter looking back at him. Not a nameless, faceless figure. _Himself_. Built of a myriad of colors and waiting for him. It smiled, not cruel, no. Gentle, soft, caressing. The specter held out its hand and sang the beckoning song Jaskier had always known in his soul.

What choice did he have but to let it lead him?

“ _Come follow me_ ”

Jaskier turned back to Geralt, still sleeping peacefully, and let out a soft sigh before slipping out from beneath the covers and dressing quietly in a gentle rustle of fabric. He looked toward the image of himself who merely held out his hand again and Jaskier knew, somehow, everything was about to change. Turning from the specter he leaned over his witcher and ghosted a soft kiss upon his brow, a small smile touching the stoic man’s lips even in sleep.

Silent as the vision showing him the way, Jaskier followed it from the room.

“ _I’ll show you this side of the world  
The places that you’ve never seen_”

As he follow it down and through the keep the halls were were awash in visions of color: past, present and future all mingling wherever he looked. Not sorrowful, not painful, no. Beautiful memories, joyful days, much-wanted futures. The places he’d seen with Geralt, places he’d never _dreamed_ , and everything in between. Kaer Morhen, standing strong and full of life; Cintra, rebuilt and alive and well; Lettenhove bustling and celebrating with familiar faces dances around the square. Places and people he knew and those he could not name.

“ _Come follow me_ ”

“To where?” Jaskier wondered aloud, the fear that had gripped him beginning to slip away.

“ _Come follow me_ ,” the specter repeated. It passed, undeterred through the door leading out to the courtyard. Without a second thought or pause, Jaskier pulled the door open and followed it in into the cool night. The sky, clear and bright and full of stars, was nearly indistinguishable from his surrounds as the glimmering visions danced around him.

“ _I’ll show you the side of yourself  
The person that you’ve always been  
But never dreamed_”

“ _Oh_ ,” Jaskier breathed, his eyes wide as he took in the swirling visions of his life around him. And there, in the middle of it all, was the ghost of himself just waiting for Jaskier to approach. As he drew closer he could feel the burn of whatever strange power Destiny had granted him beneath his skin. He pulled his eyes away from the smiling specter long enough to glance down at his own hands. It looked as though the same colorful stars as the visions he’d always seen were glimmering just beneath his skin.

The specter held out his hand once more. The whisper of Destiny urged him on.

Jaskier reached out to take it.

“ _Jaskier_!”

Geralt?

The specter took hold.

==

Geralt scrambled out of the bed. The spot Jaskier had been was cool, but still smelled strongly of the bard. It couldn’t have been that long since he’d gotten out of bed. But _why_ had he gotten out of bed?

That _song_? The one that had woken Geralt, clearly heard, as though the singer had been in the room with him and-

Geralt spun around at movement in the corner of his eye and he took a startled step back when a colorful image of himself and Jaskier swirled into view as though they’d just stumbled through the door, laughing and kissing and…that… that was them yesterday, coming in from the courtyard. The image swirled away like dust on the wind.

There was a knock on the door and Geralt hastened to finish pulling clothing on before he yanked it open, hoping it was Jaskier but instead was met with Ciri looking wide-eyed and Yennefer disconcerted, her mouth pressed into a thin line.

“Geralt, something is happening.”

He grunted, turning his head at the sound of quick, even footsteps approaching. Eskel and Lambert appeared at the end of the hallway both looking disheveled. Lambert nearly tripped, his eyes wide, and Geralt followed his line of sight to see the curious specters swirl back into view. Not himself or Jaskier, but a tall, thin man, laughing as he ran the length of the hallway. A witcher medallion was visible around his neck. He wasn’t familiar to Geralt and dissolved out of view before he could get a good look.

“Aiden?” He heard Lambert’s whisper from down the hall.

“Geralt,” Eskel began as soon as he reached them. “There’s-”

“Something happening,” Geralt cut in with a near-snarl, and they all turned again as another vision came into view down the hall. It looked like Vesemir and Jaskier, carrying wine and books and chatting amicably. It was followed by the old witcher himself who watched it go with a strange expression on his face.

“Vesemir,” Geralt started, but was unsure of what to say.

The old witcher’s keen gaze looked amongst them and then past them as still another colorful vision played out around them. Water and waves and laughing dolphins, there and gone in an instant. A familiar dream of happiness.

“Where is the bard? Where is Jaskier?”

“I don’t know,” Geralt grumbled. “He wasn’t…I was just going to look for him.”

The song, the voice, clear and calling had them all turning once more as the swirling visions accompanied it and lured them down the halls and out of the keep.

They followed the obvious invitation to follow.

“What is this?” Yennefer asked, seeing herself for a moment standing close to Istredd, an event that had occurred so long ago. It appeared just long enough for her to realize what it was before vanishing again just as quickly.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said shortly, following the strange flow of colors through the keep and to the door leading to the courtyard. The specters leading them simply went _through_ it in clear indication. “He’s…he sees these sometimes. The past, the present. Sometimes the future.”

“ _I’ll show you the side of yourself  
The places that you’ve always been  
But never dreamed_”

They weren’t as mesmerized by the song as Jaskier had been and were able to pause long enough to grab weather-appropriate cloaks before stepping outside to a courtyard full of visions and a sight that made Geralt go colder than the chill in the air ever could.

Jaskier, seemingly oblivious to everything but the glimmering form in front of him.

“Jaskier!” Geralt shouted as the bard reached out toward a specter of _himself_ , one that was reaching back toward the bard. He lunged forward, intent on pulling the bard to safety, but was gripped quickly by Vesemir who looked awe-struck. “Let me go!”

“Geralt,” Vesemir’s tone was gentle, careful even. “This is his moment. His metamorphosis.”

The strange visions around them came and went faster, familiar and foreign in equal measure, colorful and shining. The world seemed to fall away to a field of stars and sky. And on the wind, all around them, echoing and _beautiful_ was the song.

“ _What could you be afraid of  
If I’m right here with you?  
You know everything will change  
Show me what you are made of  
Cause I’m right always with you  
Come on, we could leave today_”

“Don’t take him from me,” Geralt whispered. “Don’t change him.”

He felt Ciri’s small hand slip into his own, felt Yennefer’s fingers wrap around his arm and Eskel and Lambert press close even as Vesemir continued to hold him, though he no longer tried to pull away. He resigned himself to watch, to see what Destiny had in store for the bard.

He watched images of a younger Jaskier in Posada, their first meeting.

An image of Jaskier crouched beside his bath before Cintra.

He saw Jaskier performing for court, happy and at home in the moment

Then himself, fighting monsters, his sword flashing in the strange light.

Ciri playing knucklebones in the square.

Yennefer sitting alongside another mage, laughing over ale.

Eskel tenderly caring for a young goat.

Lambert cheerfully knocking his mug against that of the other witcher he’d seen running in the hallway.

Vesemir bringing out a pot of stew to a table full of love and laughter.

He watched himself and his family get drawn together to this moment. For better, for worse, good and bad, memories swirled in and out of view, bright and shining; a rainbow of colors around them before they became too blinding to watch and he had to throw an arm up to block out the intensity of the light.

And in the center of it all, stood Jaskier.

“ _Look at this  
World we’re made for  
Come with me  
We’ll take tomorrow  
Everything you want  
Is waiting for you_

_Take it in  
The light around us  
Perfect love  
Is all around us  
Everything you need  
Is waiting for you_”

The shrill cry of a bird of prey, a musical trill, and the flutter of great wings could be heard. And then the light cleared leaving the courtyard quiet and lit by starlight and starlight alone.

Jaskier stood in the center, his back to them. Whole, intact, _unchanged_? He seemed to be looking at his hands.

“Jaskier?” Geralt croaked. He looked okay. _Please be okay._

“Geralt?” His voice seemed small. Not afraid, not quite, but …processing. As though he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

“Are you…are you okay?”

“I…yes? I think so.”

Vesemir gave Geralt’s shoulder a squeeze from where he’d restrained him, then carefully stepped around the group and over to Jaskier, moving around him to see what the bard was looking at.

They watched as Vesemir saw whatever it was, his eyes going wide with surprise, his face slack with wonder, then then his whole countenance lit up with a rare smile as he reached up and brushed a hand against the bard’s face gently.

“Oh my boy,” he breathed, looking at Jaskier. “You have been blessed and _reborn_.”

“Rebo-” Geralt couldn’t even get the word out before he tugged away from Yennefer, Ciri, and his brothers and ran to Jaskier, nearly slipping on the melting slush of the courtyard and standing next to Vesemir.

Jaskier looked fine. He looked like Jaskier. Cornflower blue eyes, soft brunet hair, wide smile, lean body, and _oh_.

Jaskier’s hands we’re gleaming with the same swirls of colors the strange visions had been, more red and gold than anything but still flickering through the spectrum of colors. Swirling flashes like the flickering of a flame. Geralt took one of his hands in his own to tug it (and Jaskier) closer to look at it. It was warm to the touch, far warmer than it should have been for bare skin on a barely spring night.

“ _Oh_ ,” Geralt breathed, looking from the shimmering skin to Jaskier’s eyes, still shining with uncertainty, though not fear. Never fear, not of Geralt. “I thought they were a myth.”

“The Koviri stories certainly would lead us to think so, but the truth is standing in front of us,” Vesemir said with a smile.

“What?” Jaskier asked looking between them. “What is this? What am I?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt breathed, lifting his hand between them, and reaching out to rub his thumb over a swirl of color as it flickered and chased in a spiral across his cheek. But he too was in shock and couldn’t give the answer voice.

“You’re a _phoenix_ ,” Vesemir informed him softly, looking for all the world like he’d never laid eyes on something like it before. And he hadn’t, had he?

A force of both creation and destruction. A balance of life and death. A song of rebirth. An agent of Destiny.

The bard had always been burning passion, chaos and creation, beginnings and endings all rolled into one.

Gods, it all made sense, didn’t it?

_It’s all connected_.

“I’m pretty sure I’m not a mythical bird,” Jaskier said plainly, a frown marring his features as he looked between them.

A small, albeit somewhat hysterical, laugh bubbled up out of Geralt and he looked to Vesemir for assistance.

“I don’t think the stories, the myths, quite understand what a phoenix is. But you, Jaskier, most assuredly are. You burn with a fire that can both create and destroy and the way you smell now… it’s like spring with new life and fresh growth, but also of burning fire and the rage of an inferno.”

“It’s nice,” Geralt muttered, and was rewarded with a tinge of pink on Jaskier’s neck and ears.

A soft smile graced the bard’s face as he looked at Geralt.

“Geralt,” he started but stopped, tears welling in his eyes and he looked at him, choked with emotion. “Geralt, I can actually make good on my promise now.”

“Promise?” Geralt’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Yours _forever_ ,” Jaskier repeated and Geralt’s face softened at the realization.

“That’s quite the reward,” Eskel commented as he stepped closer, his eyes watching the swirls of color shimmering across Jaskier’s bare hands.

“Reward?” Jaskier echoed before his eyes went wide and he looked around frantically. “Wait. It’s quiet. They’re gone!”

“The weird sparkly-ghosts all vanished when the magical song of Destiny ended,” Lambert commented drily, his arms crossed over his chest. Despite this, his expression looked to be rather in awe.

“Is that what you’ve been seeing all this time?” Geralt asked. It would have driven him mad to constantly be watching the world and the visions overlapping.

“Yes,” Jaskier replied simply, “but also no. They used to come and go, but there were so many more as of late, but they’re gone now, and so is the song. The whispers. I’ve never…I don’t remember the last time I didn’t hear the quiet whisper.”

“Seems your Destiny has been fulfilled,” Vesemir remarked. “And you’ve been gifted indeed.”

“And it means I can stay by your side,” Jaskier replied, acknowledging Vesemir’s words though his eyes were only for Geralt. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

“Jaskier,” he reached up and cupped Jaskier’s face in both hands. “I meant what I said, and I’ll say it again and again until you believe me. I’m yours forever too.”

He could hear Ciri’s muttered “ _gross_ ”, Lambert’s faux gagging, Eskel and Yennefer’s catcalling and Vesemir’s resigned sigh as he leaned in and stole another kiss from the bard but couldn’t care about that at the moment, not when he had Jaskier for as long as he possibly could.

Forever even.

He pulled back, a soft smile on his face, equally matched by Jaskier.

“There is no end in sight for us,” Jaskier sang quietly to him.

Geralt just basked in the warmth of what could be. Of what _would_ be.

Somewhere around them, though they couldn’t hear it, a song was being sung on the wind.

_Beyond the storms and the seas  
The sun and the breeze  
The stars in the galaxy_

_Beyond the time that we take_   
_The days that we make_   
_I’m always gonna be with you_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what you're thinking and yes, I will absolutely be coming back to this and I do have the outline for the sequel started. The challenge of writing a story based on a very specific soundtrack/game levels led to some limitations, but also opened the opportunity for a future fic! (Lookin' at you, Vilgefortz - I have plans.) But for now I'm moving onto other tales. (Honestly, my WIP is sitting at nine stories in various stages not counting the sequel to this, plus one collection of scenes that is at present abandoned until I figure out what I'm doing with it.)
> 
> Jaskier being a phoenix was something I decided pretty early on and hinted at a smidge throughout. Plus Force = Phoenix Force. Told ya up front it was a nod to my love of my Marvel (yes, and Star Wars.) The colorful take is loosely inspired by how Phoenix appears in the Final Fantasy games (IX specifically.)
> 
> Honestly the fact that this all came about because I was jokingly challenged to write a Tetris Effect crossover is kind of awesome. If you haven't looked up the music it's based on please do, at the very least listen to Connected (Yours Forever) and Always Been But Never Dreamed - those were my two biggest inspirations for this entire thing. [Thank you Hydelic.](https://open.spotify.com/album/6LRUdnlY48RCXDLIOVgXDS?si=C4mF6D1qQb6JrQYZ46ucAg)
> 
> Thanks all for the wonderful comments and kudos and bookmarks thank you so much for reading. 💜


End file.
